Betrayed
by StillThunder86
Summary: *Possible Finale following Formality* Allison finds out. Scott flees. Peter's scheming comes to pass. Blood will be spilled this night.
1. End of the Formal

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Teen Wolf, but I do have a desktop shot! Oh, my...

A/N: Hey, this is just my playing with the season finale based off the look Scott gave Allison at the end of Episode 11 and the teases we'd gotten in the previews. It kind of became a writing prompt which wouldn't leave me alone! I wanted to post this earlier, but also wanted to see what happened, and of course, I was way, way off! I'm only focusing on the Argents and the werewolves and a little Stiles in this. So a bit of AU happening...NO slash involved!

End of the Formal

Scott frowned into the headlights at the front of the bus, his eyes aching as they tried to adjust. His heart leapt, creating that familiar tingle along his skin which served as the warning that he'd best get his emotions in check. His first thought was that Coach Finstock had tracked him down, which would just about be his luck, wouldn't it? He'd finally made up with Allison only to be dragged away from the dance right in front of her.

But then he saw the shift of light move along the side of the bus and heard grinding pavement at his back. He turned towards the second car, cocking his head. The man behind the wheel grinned at him, eagerly.

_I know things now_, Allison's voice whispered to him.

He looked back to the first car.

_Things are different._

Christopher Argent stared through the windshield, grim-faced.

A flash of a battered book winked behind Scott's eyes. Allison's handwritten notes in the margins. Two words circled so hard the page had been indented: Loup Garou.

Werewolf.

_I know things now._

Hunters. Hunters who _knew_. His stomach fell as he took an uneasy step back. The second car's engine let out an ear-splitting roar as the stranger revved it.

_Just trust me._

His brow furrowed and he looked up into the bus window, to the shadowed face of the girl he loved. Allison was looking between the vehicles. She knew things now? She had brought him out here. She had secluded him from the dance; from witnesses. Their eyes locked. Pain and confusion sliced through his while she gazed down in startled confusion

Then, tires were squealing and both cars sprang forward. Sparks flew as they forced themselves between the buses. The scream of metal on metal drove all thought from Scott's mind. Adrenaline shot down his spine and he reacted as no human ever could.

He jumped.

* * *

><p>The cars stopped, their bumpers inches from one another. Anything unfortunate enough to be caught between them would have been crushed beyond survival. At least, as far as Allison believed. However, her terror at seeing both her father and a family friend attempting to murder her boyfriend was wiped away in sudden mind-numbing bewilderment. Because the cars never touched Scott.<p>

Instead, their prey now crouched with one foot planted firmly on each hood. His breath was visible in the light shining from beneath him.

Allison knelt upon the bus seat, both hands clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were huge above her fingers. Her jaw trembled against her palms as the thing which had been her boyfriend only seconds earlier raised its head. Gleaming gold struck frightened brown and her breath caught in her throat.

That look...she'd seen it before. In the abandoned building where Kate had brought her. She had seen it in the wild blue eyes of a creature named Derek Hale as he stood chained and helpless before her aunt's teasing. She hadn't been able to recognize it at the time, so new to the features of a werewolf's face. But it struck her full force through the grimy bus window from a set of eyes so different and so horrifically the same.

Betrayal.

It turned to its left and then to the right, taking in the two men now trapped within their cars. Fangs distended, glistening in the harsh headlights. Chris Argent regarded him, coldly, lifting his chin in answer to a withering scowl. Allison looked between them, her reality falling in shreds around her as she realized:

The two men she loved most in this world...were strangers to her.

Movement came from her right and she looked to the other car. Terror spiked fresh as Jeff (Happy-go-lucky, Jeff. Hysterical Jeff. Jeff with the wildest stories of his youth) leveled a pistol at the back of Scott's head. An inarticulate squeak spat through her teeth. Scott's pointed ear flicked as the hammer cocked and she saw tension coil through his legs.

Both windshields were blown out in the deafening gunfire. Allsion screamed as shattered pieces tinkled over the roof of her sanctuary and rained down to the dark pavement. She jumped to her feet, pausing just long enough to see her father peek over his steering wheel and begin shouting at his friend.

Scott was gone.

She slammed her hips off the seats as she made her way down the narrow aisle to the front. The heel of her stilettos twisted beneath her and she pitched forward, slapping her palms against the glass. Fingers stinging, she pushed herself upright only to realize she was trapped. The rear of her family's SUV was pinned tight against the exit. She drove her fists against the window, panic squeezing tiny noises from her throat. Chris turned in his seat.

"Dad!" she cried. "Dad, let me out!"

Something she couldn't decipher flashed over his face and then Chris Argent turned his back on his daughter. Her fingers spread over the glass in disbelief. He was shouting instructions over to Jeff, who nodded and threw his car into reverse. The whole bus shook and moaned as the car ground its way free. Jeff turned out of sight and roared from the parking lot.

Her world wobbled again as the SUV slowly moved backward. Allison sat in cold shock on the top step until her father was able to kick his door open. He walked to her, calmly brushing glinting shards from his coat as if nothing out of the oridinary had just happened. They faced each other with only the thin and slightly bent door between them.

"Allison. Get out of the bus."

* * *

><p>Scott's feet had barely touch the roof of the second bus before he took off again. He shot down the length of the vehicle and leaped to a low overhang jutting from the school. Up he went, jumping from vents and AC units and kicking off piping until he rolled over the ledge to the second story roof. He bolted across the open space, one thought driving everything out of his mind for the time being.

Survival.

Vibrations shivered up his legs as he passed over the gym. In some distant corner of his mind that was still connected to this world, he thought he recognized it as the bass of a song. A good one. One he should have been dancing to with his girlfriend. Just like those beneath him were doing.

His vision flickered, calling up the images he had seen throughout the evening. They were innocent enough observations when taken in by the eyes of a teenage boy. The decorations, the music, the loners lounging among the bleacher seats. But through the eyes of the predator who shared his blood, things became far more heinous.

He saw the flash of pale throats in the strobing light. He'd listened to the elated heart rates which created a rhythm more enticing than the DJ's mix. He inhaled the rush of emotions that rolled from his classmates. Nervousness and joy and apprehension and fear. All fueled by the fainter, seductive thrum of blood whooshing through their veins.

Scott's jaws snapped against the night as his human side caught up with the analysis. He pushed the intrigue down, fighting to keep the wolf on course. Trying so hard not to obsess on the prey beneath his feet. But they were not the wolf's priority at the moment.

He'd been attacked, shot at, and had escaped. Any plans it might have had for the young ones below were irrelevant now. All that mattered to it was to continue the escape.

And Scott could agree to that.

He reached the edge of the building and kept going, launching himself into the air. His arms windmilled once for balance and he drew up his knees for his landing. The impact drove a hot lance up his spine, but it was already fading as he surged forward. He blew across this parking lot, hopped the fence, and then he was running beneath the cool cover of trees.

He felt the confines of town slipping away and with them went everything which had defined a young man named Scott McCall. His homework, his schedule, his job, lacrosse...Stiles...his mother. One by one, his ties to the life he knew fell discarded at every property line he passed. Until finally, all that lay before him was national forest.

He kept going until a sense wound through him that he had passed that unofficial boundary which separated well tread paths from trees in which humans should never play. Those wild, untamed trees which hid dangers of the night. The predators, the real hunters, and those creatures of nightmares.

Like himself.

It was there, beyond the reach of prying eyes, that he finally slowed. The pain which had been shoved down in a moment of self-preservation came roaring to the surface in full fury. He dropped to his knees, sliding as his momentum continued onward, and caught himself on his elbows. Stones and pine needles dug into his skin, which was okay he supposed, as his claws bit right back into the soil.

Growls faded into shuddering gasps. He stared at the dark ground between his arms, not even noticing when his fingers lessened and his claws retracted. The power in his shoulders and back dwindled. The discomfort of his too-large cuspids ebbed away. A slight tickle along his cheeks and forehead signaled the departure of his more canine features.

His shoulders heaved against the dark and he slid his legs upward, muddying the knees of his tux. Scott curled in on himself, his fingers pulling clods of dirt to his chest as if gathering the flayed remains of his heart. A sob slipped past clenched teeth.

She knew. She had found out and, like he'd feared, had chosen the other side.

Why wouldn't she? Who would choose a werewolf (one under constant threat of falling to the influence of a serial killer) over their parents? She didn't know that he hadn't been part of the attacks. She couldn't know that he was actually trying to stop the Alpha just like they were...

But she'd known about him.

He thought she had forgiven him.

She had set him up.

He had made her laugh again.

She watched as her father tried to kill him.

He said he loved her.

His cheeks caught fire as embarrassment crawled through his gut. How could he be so stupid? It hadn't been love in her eyes...it had been victory. Only the vivid excitement of a fisherman who'd realized they'd just snagged a trophy mount. He had willingly exposed his heart to her.

She had gladly cut it out.

His back arched, suddenly, as he turned his face towards the sky. A sound of such utter despair tore through him. It was a primal, unchecked howl of agony so great that even in his human skin...he'd never felt more like a monster.

It ripped along the night, stilling animals in their tracks and sending birds into flight. At the outskirts of town, men and women looked up from their novels or televisions with concern. They checked their porches and backyards and called their pets in for the night. Then they locked their doors against him.

Scott's voice wavered into a broken gasp. He panted into the quiet night. His elbows quivered in attempt to keep himself steady. How long he knelt there in the dirt, he could never be sure. His thoughts were scattered and frantic as he searched for something, anything, to pull him back to solid ground. And it seemed an eternity had passed before a voice finally broke through to him.

"Scott?"

He twisted, scrambling backwards half out of surprise and half from instinct. Hollow eyes fell upon the figure framed against the forest. His face full of worry, Peter Hale stepped closer.

"Scott, what's happened to you?"

* * *

><p>* Like I said, my guess was off...but it was fun to write! I always appreciate reviews, critiques, suggestions and questions. Part two will be coming soon!<p> 


	2. Hanging with the Alpha

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Teen Wolf...

A/N: Thanks to Murasaki Tsuki, cursedgirl, LadySilver, and hewday84 for your reviews! And thank you to everyone else who alerted and made this one a fav! I'm sorry for my tardiness, I am ashamed!

Hanging With the Alpha

Meanwhile...

The lights were flashing in perfect rhythm with the band. The dance floor had been overcome by a throng of teenagers intent on making the most of this night. Flushed faces grinned at one another in the strobing light. Hairdos slipped from perfection as the girls danced. The boys loosened their neckties and rolled up their sleeves against the crowded heat. Nervous loners sat at the circling tables, watching the dancers with growing envy.

Apart from the gym, however, the atmosphere of the school could have been likened to a haunted house. The halls sat cold and empty just as they had for decades. The only detail out of place was the lack of a prowling janitor. In the wake of the previous man's demise, a suitable replacement had yet to be found.

So no one was about to notice the broken door angling into the dark computer lab.

No one saw the tall man pacing before the windows while he slowly turned a cell phone between his hands. No one heard the frantic typing at one of the workstations or the shaken breath of the young man seated there.

Stiles entered his search and sat with his knees bouncing off the underside of the table. The hourglass onscreen drained through its virtual sand...and then lazily flipped over. Mouth dry, he turned towards the window.

"All right, see? It's working. Will you call now?"

Peter Hale slid his attention away from the trees pressed to the back of the school's property line. "She's all right for the moment."

"She is not!" Stiles snapped, jumping to his feet. But he froze when the werewolf turned to face him. A low growl cut between them and Stiles sank back to his chair, lifting his hands. "Look, we're dealing with an outdated piece of junk, okay? It's going to take a little bit."

"All the more reason not to hail the authorities just yet."

Stiles stared at him, his hands curling into fists. Shame and fury surged through him as he thought of Lydia still lying out on the lacrosse field. The sight of her unconscious and bloodied, where Peter's teeth had caught her side, kept flashing before his eyes. He swallowed down the first four unpleasant things which sprang to mind and forced his voice into restraint. "Look...I'm doing what you asked. This is going to find Derek, okay? You said you would get her help if I went with you." Peter lifted an impassive eyebrow and Stiles opened his hands, helplessly. "Please, man. You can't let her die because the computer's slow..."

The alpha sighed through his nose and flipped the phone open. Stiles nearly collapsed in relief when he punched in three numbers. Muffled on the other end of the line, he just heard the bored voice answer."911, what's your emergency?"

"Yes," Peter said just as smoothly as if he were ordering dinner. "I'd like to report an animal attack at Beacon Hills High School. A young woman, Lydia Martin, is terribly injured."

"What?" the woman squawked. "Sir? Sir, did you _see_ -"

"The lacrosse field. I suggest you hurry." He then snapped the phone shut and crushed it.

"Wh - hey, that's...was mine..." Stiles sighed as the pieces scattered around the man's feet.

Peter brushed his hands together and straightened his jacket. "Now, about my nephew?"

Stiles spun back to the computer, muttering about being owed a new phone, and shook the infuriating hourglass. "C'mon, c'mon, please work...Please..."

The screen flickered and brought up a satelite view of town. A red dot was pinpointed just out of the city limits, right off an old logging trail. Hysteria broke a smile across his face. "H-hey, we got - oh, jeez!" His knees struck the bottom of the table as he turned to find Peter already leaning over his shoulder.

The alpha calmly caught the chair as it began to roll away and shoved him back into place. His other palm spread across the tabletop as he examined the screen. Stiles glanced to it and his stomach tightened to see a spatter of Lydia's blood drying between the thumb and index finger.

"I know this place," Peter said quietly. He grabbed Stiles by the collar and hauled him out of his seat. "You're driving."

By the time they had reached the parking lot, a curious crowd had scattered between the gym and the lacrosse field. Stiles pushed himself to his toes, anxiously, as if he might find Lydia miraculously making her way back to the school. Assisted, maybe, but magically cured of all hurts.

No such luck.

A palm settled over the back of his neck and steered him towards the quiet cars. "They're on their way, Stiles. She'll be in good hands." A low hum of amusement sent a chill through the boy. "I'll vouch for the staff at Beacon Hills Medical myself, if it will ease your mind."

He gave Stiles a light shove into the side of his Jeep. The teenager caught himself, wincing has his palms smacked cold metal. Grinding his teeth, he glared after the man circling to the other side of the vehicle. Stiles climbed into the cab and unlocked the passenger door. He slouched back into his seat, pouting.

The alpha opened his door and then paused. His head tipped to the side before he turned towards a row of buses lined near the school. His nostrils flared in a now all-too-familiar motion which instantly beaked the boy's interest. Stiles twisted in his seat.

"What's going on?"

Peter dropped his chin and angled into the seat. "Start the car."

Stiles scowled. "Seriously, what is it?"

"Seriously?" Peter said slowly. "You need to start the car."

The teenage wrinkled his nose stubbornly. "No." He raised a warning finger, which Peter regarded with a lifted brow. "No, okay? I am sick and tired of...of being ordered around by-by_ rude_, pushy, serial killer werewolves, all right? S-s-so I'm not doing another thing until...until _I_ get some answers!"

He sat back, shaky and oddly proud that his finger was still attached.

Peter's gaze flicked from the finger and he offered a small smile.

Stiles' cheek slammed off the steering wheel.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"Mr. Stilinski," Peter's voice was low and silky. His fingers sank deeper into the boy's neck. Stiles cracked an eye just in time to see the blue irises swirl away into violent red. "Start. This. Car."

"Y-y-yeah, all right," he muttered. He blindly jammed the key into the ignition and twisted the engine to life. Peter's hand lifted and Stiles pushed back against his seat with a disgusted scowl as he shifted into reverse. They approached the exit just to meet flashing lights and a deafening siren blazing by.

Peter watched it go with mild interest as they snuck from the parking lot. He leaned back with a contented hum in his throat, as if he were perfectly at ease with the seething silence eminating from his companion.

"Would you like to listen to the radio?" He smiled at the nasty look thrown his way and folded his hands upon his lap. "Myself, I enjoy silence."

The radio kicked on, instantly. Peter's mouth twitched and he turned his attention to the buildings passing by. His fingers tapped in time with the song as Stiles sat and stewed and attempted telepathic murder.

It was a bust. Werewolves must be immune to such things.

Which sucked, really.

"You didn't have to attack her," he snapped at last. "She didn't know anything."

"Oh, I know," Peter rolled his neck. "But extreme actions ignite more timely results. Notice I did not have to waste _that_ much time persuading you to help me."

Knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "And what are you gonna do to make Scott help you?"

The older man's eyes crinkled, merrily. "I have no concern about Scott."

"He's never going to help you kill people."

"Won't he? Take a left up here." Stiles glanced to him in surprise. "Go on."

The Jeep swung into the hospital's parking lot. He followed the lot around the building until the ambulance bay came into sight. Stiles eased into a space and cut the engine. "Now what?" he asked of the empty seat beside him.

He had barely registered the fact before his own door flew open on its own accord. "Geez! Do you guys _have_ to do that?"

Peter set his elbow against the cab's roof. "Now, you're going to stay put and tend to your little friend once she's arrived."

Stiles frowned at him, dumbfounded. "W-what?"

"You've been very helpful, Stiles. But for what happens next...I'm afraid you're just not qualified to handle the situation. Give me your keys."

Stiles rolled his eyes, slid out onto the pavement, and handed them over. "Careful, she grinds in second..." His voice trailed away as Peter swung them into his fist and crushed them with a faint squeal of metal. He tossed them back and began to walk away.

Stiles stared at the twisted fragments in his hand and looked after him, incredulously. "So you're not going to kill me?" he shouted.

Peter paused and glanced over his shoulder. A troubled frown touched his brow and he came striding towards the boy. "Oh, G..."

"Don't you understand yet?" the werewolf asked, looking pained. "I'm not the bad guy here."

Stiles' brow almost shot through his hairline. "You turn into a giant monster with red eyes and fangs and _you're not the bad guy here_?"

Amusement touched the blue eyes and Peter fell back a step. "I like you, Stiles." A disbelieving huff slipped past the boy's teeth. "Since you helped me, I'm going to give you something in return. Do you want the bite?"

Stiles blinked, shaken. He couldn't have just heard that right. "What?"

"Do you want. The. Bite?" Peter repeated quietly, as if speaking to a small child. "If it doesn't kill you, and it could, you'll become like us."

He shifted, nervously, glancing towards the hospital and back. "Like you...?"

"Yes, a werewolf, would you like me to draw you a picture?" Peter's voice was tinted with annoyance but it was quickly smoothed away. "That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could have just as easily been you."

Stiles paled at that. His Adam's apple bobbed.

Peter lowered his head and sidled closer, his voice low, almost hypnotic. Darkness danced behind his eyes. "You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular. Watching him get the _girl_." Stiles' gaze dropped away and Peter gave him a soothing smile. "You'd be equals...maybe more."

He felt the frightened twitch that rocked the boy as his hand shot out to grasp the younger wrist. The pulse which raged against his fingers was intoxicating and Peter's mouth watered at the sensations stirred through his skin at such terror. It would have sent Scott into a full frenzy and even Derek would have been hard pressed to try and ignore it. Peter, however, sent him a mild look of expectation and tugged the wrist towards his mouth.

"Yes or no?"

Stiles stared at him, his eyes blank with shock. Peter leaned in, his fangs flashing as they filled his mouth.

It must have been the sight of them which snapped Stiles out of his reverie, because he jerked against the werewolf's grip. "N-no!" Peter shot him a curious look as his teeth receded. "I don't want it..." Stiles whispered, shaking his head. "I don't want to be like you."

"Of course." Peter released him. Stiles stumbled back against his Jeep, rubbing at his wrist. Peter tugged his coat straight. "Whatever you wish. Any friend of Scott's, after all...Give the girl my best."

He smirked and returned to his trek across the parking lot. However, his roguish exit was cut short by a sudden, haunting wail.

Stiles looked up, startle that the cry sent a fearful jolt through him. The sound was surreal. Projected with the force of a werewolf's howl, yet the pain of it was all too human.

His eyes swept over the parking lot and he found the alpha standing rigid. His face tipped towards the moon, lining the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheek in silver. A grin broke over the man's face, rippling towards mania as he turned from his course.

Then he was running, a black streak lost against the night.

Stiles threw his ruined keys aside and sprinted for the hospital.


	3. Confidantes

**Disclaimer:** Teen Wolf and its characters don't belong to me...

A/N: Believe it or not, it's Allison's scene that's been holding back this update...and I'm still not completely thrilled with it. But, I've done what I can...

Confidantes

There was a time that driving home in silence would have been completely normal. Christopher Argent wasn't exactly a man who felt the need to fill lulls in conversation. As such, Allison reserved a small pride that they were capable of enjoying one another's company without endless chatter.

This was not that time.

She sat in the center of the backseat with her hands resting limp upon her lap. Her eyes stared, unseeing, out the shattered windshield. The SUV tore down the road, whipping her hair into a tangled mess. Her dull gaze shifted to the angled profile of her father's face. He stared at the road, icily, with his knuckles bone white upon the steering wheel.

A thread of concern touched the far side of her mind. The place which was untouched by monsters, shock, and adrenaline. It registered a single, undeniable fact: She was in so much trouble.

As the SUV swung into the driveway, she noticed the street was lined with familiar cars. For one ludicrous moment, she reasoned that her mother must have been throwing a dinner for all the family's friends...friends which all lived out of town...

She blinked when the side door opened, not even aware that her father was no longer in the driver's seat. Chris lent a gentle, but firm, hand to slide her out of the vehicle. She limped beside him, wincing from the sting of her twisted ankle. He draped his overcoat across her shoulders and she drew it around herself, soaking in the warmth it offered. She allowed him to steer her up the walk and into the house.

Voices died the moment they entered and Allison found herself looking into the faces she'd grown up with. They stared back at her. But instead of breaking into friendly grins or offering teasing comments about her ruined hair, she was regarded with an odd wariness. The men were all somber and concerned, their eyes flicking from her to Chris and back again as if to verify she wasn't carrying some deadly disease into their midst. She pressed her shoulders into her father's chest.

Chris stepped before her and sent a look into the living room which scattered everyone's attention. Then he hauled Allison up the stairs. Grateful as she was to break the community stare down, her neck prickled with the sensation that they were all watching her again. Light steps followed after them and, glancing back, she was relieved to see Kate.

The next thing she knew, she had plopped onto her bed. She looked around with a hollow nervousness. Her skin tingled as if she were intruding on someone else's privacy. She recognized things (her desk, her dresser, the charred remains of Mr. Bear in the corner) but nothing held an ounce of familiarity. She drew a pillow to her chest and focused on the bland closet door before her.

"So..." Kate's voice cut through the numbing haze, "How'd it go?"

"Kate, not - " But Chris was cut off by a softer answer.

"We were dancing." Allison tugged the coat closer. She felt she would never draw enough heat into herself. "We were dancing. He said..." Her eyes widened. "H-he said..."

_The heat of his kiss drew from her lips. Her eyes fluttered to meet his._

_"Why did you do that?"_

_Scott smiled. "Because I love you."_

"I'm sure he said a lot," Chris muttered, darkly. He turned to face his daughter, head on. "What exactly were the two of you doing out on that bus, anyway?"

She slid glassy eyes towards him. She had seen her father angry before, but never like this. His face seemed more defined, chiseled even, with the tension coiling along his neck and jaw. A strange light filled his eyes, transforming him from her warm, slightly over-protective father, into the cold, intimidating "Mr. Argent" that Scott knew so well.

Scott...

"All right," Kate said, stepping into the room. She set a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Chris, you know I love you, but you gotta go. And you know I'm right," she added when he bristled. She pushed him towards the door. "Go on downstairs. Say a few words to the troops. Pass around some orders, you know, the stuff you're good at. I'll handle this."

"Kate..." he began again, his voice tinged in warning.

"This is girl talk," she said with a sweet smile before slamming the door in his face. She let out a breath and then turned to face her niece. Allison's blank stare had drifted to the carpet before her. Hooking her thumbs into her pockets, the older woman sauntered towards the bed.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you, sweetie?"

Allison blinked as a line formed between her eyebrows. "Scott's a werewolf..."

"Feels weird rolling off the tongue, doesn't it?" Kate wrinkled her nose, playfully.

The girl finally looked up at her. She cocked her head. "_Scott_ is a _werewolf_?"

Kate's smile faded. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's still processing...Fine," she sank down to the bed. "Take as much time as you need. I understand, it's a lot to take in. Finding out your boyfriend is a monster with connections to a bloodthirsty alpha right after discovering you come from a lineage of werewolf hunters..." She stuck out her lip. "Good grief, it's good enough to be on stage."

"The alpha?" Allison whispered.

"I told you about the second beta we were looking for." Kate lifted a brow. "The one like Derek? Now we've found him."

"No," Allison pushed from the bed, shaking her head as she began to pace. "No, he can't be. Scott would never...he wouldn't...

Kate watched her wander back and forth. "I totally agree. _Scott_ probably could never kill anyone." She met her niece's wary glance and rose from the bed herself. "But we're not talking about Scott anymore, sweetie."

"What?"

"With werewolves, kiddo, it's all smoke and mirrors. Survival is their first and foremost instinct. You can't blend into a crowd if you _look_ like a murderer, now can you?" Allison hesitated and Kate pressed forward, driving her towards the desk. "And despite old Hollywood flicks, there is nothing _tragic_ about their human forms. Their human personas exist only to deceive, to disappear with only the vaguest of descriptions." A small smile quirked at her lips. "Young boy, dark hair, _fantastic_ brown eyes..." She hummed low in her throat before noticing the incredulous look she was receiving. "A purely platonic observation, I swear."

Allison rubbed at her cheeks, shaking her head again.

"The point is, that description can fit hundreds of boys in this area. And when searching for a murderer, no one would ever look at Scott. He's a good kid, a cutie, one of dozens of athletes...and all of it is a mask of his deceit."

The girl took a shuddering breath, her fingers touching her mouth.

Kate eye softened. "The harsh truth is, kid, that Scott McCall died the minute the alpha sank his teeth into him. What's been walking around in his skin during the day is the most ruthless, single-minded predator this world's ever had the misfortune to witness."

"Single-minded?"

Her aunt smiled, almost dreamily. "Survival is their first instinct...followed only by their bloodlust." Her shoulders lifted into a shrug.

"No!" Allison made for the window. She paused, staring out into the dark night through her own pale reflection. "I know Scott. I _know_ him. I-I-I don't know what he is, but he is not a murderer! I would have seen it, he-he's the worst...liar..." Her voice broke and she dropped her head to hide her tears. "In all the time I spent with him, Kate...I've never seen a monster!"

Kate studied her through a light frown. Lifting her niece's chin, she pushed away the damp and tangled hair to expose her tear-streaked cheeks. Allison's lip trembled and she sank into her aunt's arms with a soft whimper. Kate propped her own chin on the top of the girl's hair, shushing her for a moment.

"Oh, sweetie...you're going to."

* * *

><p>He passed through the forest with a fluidity unnatural to his outward appearance. A human in the forest at night should have been a pathetic, stumbling mess. Yet this one went with steps which were strong and confident. His eyes were red, lit from within, providing more detail than any night vision goggles ever could. His ears caught the movements of birds and animals as they stilled to regard his presence. The heady smells of flora and fauna might have been overwhelming this far from civilized company, but his focus was bent upon the one thing that had no place here.<p>

There was no scent to follow as the wind had shifted away from him. He had no broken path of limbs to show him the way. There was only...an impression. Something which dried his mouth and left bitterness lying heavy upon his tongue. It rolled out of the darkness in an intriguing and invisible wave, catching his heightened senses and lighting up the trail like a beacon.

Though, whether this beacon was created through the connection of Peter's venom flowing through Scott's veins or he was picking up the intense emotions of the boy's human side, he wasn't quite sure. Not that he really cared about the matter. He was able to track down his wayward little beta, the technicalities of this feat meant nothing to him.

The alpha crested a low rise and spotted the younger werewolf. Scott was on his knees, hunched over with his forehead pressed to the dirt. His back was shuddering with sobs and his fists were clutched up against his chest. The ragged remains of his dress shirt hung about him in shreds. The bits not spattered in filth and mud stood bone white against the dark forest floor.

Peter watched him for a moment before rolling his shoulders. He hadn't lied to Derek about the destruction of his humanity in the wake of the alpha's rise. If he truly felt anything from the scene before him, it was mild curiosity. This was all business, a means to an end, and his eyes were stony as he observed the young creature attempt to pull himself together.

He drew in a breath saturated by the emotions rolling off the teenager. High school drama. He sneered at the thought as he began to pick apart the haze. Pain was the most prominent, thus coating his tongue in that dry, acrid taste. Confusion was there, hurt, loss, embarrassment, fear, rejection. He sighed. The boy was an emotional wreck, surely something he was feeling could be useful in...

His nostrils flared wider, catching a subtle, but far more intriguing, emotion on the air. It was sharp and vivid, stinging the sides of his tongue with a sour flavor that he scraped against his teeth.

Betrayal.

Peter's vision darkened. The red faded from his eyes as he approached the boy. Pausing in the shadow of a tree, he lightened the tone of his voice to ask, "Scott?"

The reaction was instant. Scott scrambled up and backwards as he bared puny human teeth against the night. He searched the tree line with wild eyes, his chest heaving with adrenaline. Peter kept his face perfectly concerned as he emerged into the dim light.

"Scott, what's happened to you?"

Recognition filtered through the teenager's face. "_Peter_?"

"Are you injured?" He moved forward, causing Scott to fall back, watching him, warily. He smiled and offered an outstretched hand, palm up. "Scott, relax."

The tension rolled out of the boy's shoulders. His dark eyes were still wide and suspicious, but his fists uncoiled as well. Interesting. Peter cocked his head. He shifted his weight to the right, easing down to be on equal footing with the other. Scott countered the motion, keeping their distance while setting a large stump between them. Peter watched him just as carefully as he himself was being watched, regarding the link with his beta in a new light.

After all, he was almost as new to being an alpha as the boy was to being a werewolf. He'd known created wolves before, but his family had been forged through a bloodline. Given the makeup of a pack's hierarchy, he knew their ties to one another were considerably more difficult to severe than even human families could fathom. Yet, he hadn't really thought upon the connection which could be manifested through the bite.

He had known his call would draw the boy to him. He knew he could force him to shift and, if caught off guard, could intensify and direct his bloodlust. But here and now? He couldn't help but wonder how much influence he had over his creation.

His eyes glinted with the prospect. He cleared his throat, "You haven't answered."

"I'm fine," Scott growled. He tugged the torn sleeve of his shirt over his shoulder.

"Of course," Peter nodded. "Although, what I heard all the way from town would suggest otherwise. I had feared you were being skinned alive." He paused to shoot a sly smile towards the other. "Or was it heartbreak, I wonder?"

As he spoke, he sent a command into that swirling cloud of emotion radiating off the teen. A simple direction to scratch his neck.

Scott's hand rose, obediently, to run his fingernails along his collarbone. Close enough.

"It's nothing," Scott muttered at his feet, missing the triumphant smile that flashed across the older man's face. "Something happened and...I had to get out of there..."

"Something?" Peter dropped his voice, changing the question into a silent demand for information.

Scott's eyes fluttered and he shook his head. "I...uh..." He looked away, blinking.

Peter took the opportunity to close the distance between them. "It's okay, Scott. Tell me."

A glaze slithered over the young man's eyes. "We were at the dance..." he said. His words fell into a flat monotone. "Allison and I, we...we went outside to the buses..." He glanced up, as if he waiting for disapproval to cross the adult's face. Peter only lifted his chin as a signal to continue. "Her dad showed up...he showed up and tried to...run over me..."

Peter frowned. "What happened to the girl?"

"She was on the bus."

He allowed the sentence to hang for a moment. "That's rather convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"No!" Peter rocked back from the surge of defiance which struck him. Scott caught himself and seemed to hesitate. "No, I mean...I don't know."

"I think you do," Peter pressed, shaking off the resistance the boy had towards blaming the girl. He pulled at his coat and leveled his eyes at the other. A thought struck him and he glanced aside. "Then again..."

Scott's scowl lessened.

"It is possible the girl didn't know what she was doing." He moved again, walking straight towards the boy with a slow, non-threatening gait. Scott didn't retreat but glanced at the stump as if to verify he still had a barrier between them. "After all, the Argents are ruthless enough to use an innocent victim as bait. Even one of their own. Perhaps she was no more than unknowing accomplice to her..._family._" The word passed over his tongue like acid.

Scott blinked. "Y-yeah...maybe..."

Sensing a crack in the beta's defenses, Peter eased closer. "It does seem like something they would do."

Scott's eyes flicked to the ground, shifting back and forth. Peter smiled to himself and nudged a feeling of indignation towards the younger heart. Anger puckered the boy's brow.

"Doesn't it?" the Alpha asked quietly.

Slowly, the boy's chin lifted and fell.

Peter drew himself up as an unfamiliar nervousness beat into his chest. The wall Scott had built against him all this time was splintered down the center and crumbling more with each second. With his tendrils of control brushing against the boy's consciousness, it would only take a push to reel in his new ally.

Unfortunately, that push was not going to be very pleasant.

He swallowed to steel his nerve. "Wouldn't you like to repay them with a visit?"

Scott's glassy eyes shimmered with doubt. Then the darkness of Peter's hatred clouded his face.

He nodded.

Peter's hand shot out, catching the younger werewolf around the back of his neck. He saw a flash of surprised gold before he drove their foreheads together. Scott's knees buckled and he went down, catching himself on the stump. Peter staggered as the impact sliced between his eyes. The alpha's underlying consciousness flinched back for an instant, fully exposing his mind to the stifled humanity.

A hiss tore his throat as the phantom sting of flames licked at his arms. The heavy stench of smoke coated his nose and throat. He could still taste the ash which was six years gone. He could hear the frightened cries of children long dead.

His chest tightened against the onslaught. Feelings he thought safely buried struck his thoughts just as sharp and potent as the moment he'd gained them. Helplessness, separation, fear of the loud pops and bangs consuming the house above them. His brother, his alpha, let out a futile bellow of defiance even as the ceiling came down, crushing his pack into oblivion.

Strange, unworldly silence followed, swelled only by the unyielding fire that continued long after it had claimed them. Pain. Pain. Pain. Silence. Pain. Cold air. Flashing lights and shouting ghosts.

Darkness. Slow, disintegrating fury.

Awakening to the call of the moon.

Wrath. Always, there was his wrath.

The quell of emotion was severed like a lid slamming shut. The alpha's cold instincts cut it off and left Peter to reel beneath the power of it. He snarled to regain his composure and forced himself upright. His skin tingled with the residual effects of the pouring such hatred out. He felt it swirling, bouncing off himself and the woods around them.

It hung like a malicious fog and was sucked into the younger one's lungs like vapor.

A feral grin appeared as he saw his own rage reflected in other's face.

Scott was staring ahead with blazing eyes. His arms were locked and trembling as he absorbed the raw feelings of the older man. Pale claws bit deep into the stump as he shifted, whitening his knuckles. His fangs appeared, sending flecks of saliva onto the wood with each growing snarl. A rumble rolled through his chest.

Peter shook his head, pushing down the onslaught out of pure will. "Scott?"

The young man's shoulders shuddered and he lifted his head. He considered the alpha from beneath a low brow, his pointed ears pricking forward at the mention of his name. His lip curled a second before he sent a savage roar straight into the alpha's face. A roar of pain and vengeance and wrath.

His eyes were red.

Peter regarded him coldly...and then smiled.

"Good."


	4. Control

**Disclaimer:** Teen Wolf and its characters do not belong to me.

A/N: For wolfgal97, who wanted to see Derek. I swear, I'm only mean to characters I really, truly love! There is blood and terribleness in this chapter. I'm just that kind of girl. Thank you all for your reviews!

Control

Stiff fingers stretched towards the ceiling as delicate bones realigned themselves. Skin rippled as shattered fragments pulled together. Once whole, the hand curled into a fist, straining his wrist against the unyielding steel cuff.

Derek steadied himself for a beat. Then he bent his knees and eased down until his arm was fully extended. Gritting his teeth, he twisted sharply to the right and winced against the sickening crunch of his shoulder snapping back into place. Panting, he touched his damp back against the frigid bars and closed his eyes a familiar shimmering heat consumed his arm.

Grateful as he was for his regeneration genes, the experience was never overly pleasant. And in all his strange life, he had never depended on them as much as he had these last few months in Beacon Hills. Wolfsbane bullets, electrocution, that initial fight with Peter...now this? If there were a limit to his kind's healing capabilities, he might just be the one to discover it. Especially now that his captivity was being spent with a man who had every intent on see how much a werewolf's body could endure.

But broken bones and torn flesh he could manage.

Feeling clawed fingers tick off the sides of your vertebrae, now that's a pain what lingers.

Though, as much as he despised the idea, he was indebted to the Argents. After all, the four bullets they'd peppered across his chest were part of the reason his mind was his own again. The reigns of his uncle's authority had fallen loose because of them. He supposed he should be grateful for that.

Then they'd broken his hand. And, unlike his shattered fingers, the fragments of gratitude did not grow back.

He spent his moments of solitude attempting to piece back together the last few days. He could remember following Stiles into the hospital and the resulting fight with his uncle. He remembered being exhausted and bleeding when the offer came for Peter to explain himself. And light-headed as he had been, he'd allowed a sliver of doubt to open his ears to the alpha's words.

The rest was consumed by wrath.

There were certain moments of clarity. Seeing the look of horror on Scott's face when he realized Derek had crossed to the alpha's side. Waiting in the dark locker room, deciding just what needed to be said to lure a sixteen year old _kid_ to his death. Facing the teenage werewolf as he defended Jackson's life.

And then there was the darkness which came dribbling from Scott's mouth. Followed by the heavy, acrid scent that leaked, along with blue vapor, from the bullet hole in his gut.

Derek figured it had been that moment (as he had hunched behind a cabinet in his own house and winced at the glass and wood being blown apart around him) that had truly severed his link with Peter.

He had no loyalty to Scott. Or affection. Or really even a friendship. Hell, he was still on the fence about whether or not he even _liked_ the kid. But somehow, the sight of the boy being shot, frightened, and so...well, _human_ had triggered some deeper instinct of protection within him. And so he had gotten Scott out of that death trap.

Only to be caught by the Hunters himself.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

Unfortunately, his return to sanity had also revealed some rather large gaps in his memory. Embarrassment touched his cheeks. For twenty-four years, he had been trained to guard his mind and shield his thoughts from intrusion. Yet, despite his efforts, Peter had flicked his defenses aside with a few short sentences.

Granted, he had never expected a threat to rise from his own blood. But Peter's assault on his will had been executed effortlessly. The truly cruel part was that, as Derek's alpha, he had every right to do it again.

And Derek had no doubt that he would.

"Twelve minutes."

A muscle pulled in his cheek as he was stirred from his thoughts. The leather-clad man (Kate had called him Marcus) wandered towards his prisoner. He lifted a pocket watch in salute and Derek's fingers twitched as the cover snapped shut.

"Twelve minutes," he said again, slipping the watch into his coat. "That's the longest you've taken to recover, boy-o. Don't tell me you're wearing out already?"

Derek snarled.

"Oh-ho, that won't do," Marcus shook his head. "I won't be taking attitude by the likes of you."

Glancing aside, the man moved to a rusted pile of machinery parts. He took hold of a solid steel rod and drew it out with a shriek of metal. He returned, slowly twirling the rod between his fingers. His dark gaze studied his prey through its rotations.

Derek tightened his grip on the chains, uneasily.

"Why so concerned, lad? A few broken bones got you on edge? Does this seem just a tad extreme? Ha!"

The rod swung around and struck the bars next to Derek's head. He flinched as the sound pierced his ears. It resonated through his skull until he was hissing in pain. When his eyes cracked open again, Marcus had the rod resting against his shoulder, like a baseball bat. He looked thoughtful.

"Y'know," he said, "I had a cousin a few years back. Good guy. Nice wife. Two little girls. He was the kind'a guy other men envied. Loved his job…he was going places." Derek just heard the whistle of the swing before it connected with his abdomen. He couldn't stop the grunt which slipped past his teeth nor the attempt his leg made to curl in on the hit. He gasped, cursing as the pain sapped his strength away.

"He _was_ going places, too." The end of the pole trailed along Derek's jaw and lifted his head. Their eyes met. "Till one of you moved into his neighborhood."

His smile faded. It was the only warning Derek had.

The rod drove upward, slicing the underside of the werewolf's chin. His skull struck the steel behind him. Spots erupted before him and he slumped, only remaining upright by the cuffs which bound his hands. A thin line of red slipped over his lip.

Marcus fell back to examine the blood on his weapon. "And that was _my_ introduction to your kind."

Derek spat to the side and shivered as the damp air condensed around him. The fine hair on his neck prickled. Marcus didn't seem to notice the change of atmosphere.

"Chris doesn't approve of such tactics," he continued. "Believes your termination should be quick and merciful. I think he forgets what you things are capable of. What you can do to a body. I certainly haven't, boy-o."

Derek's legs trembled as he pushed himself straight, emotionless eyes drifting past the man's shoulder.

"Death by werewolf," Marcus mused, slowly. He lifted his shoulders. "I can't fathom a worse fate. Can you, lad?"

The rod drew back. It paused at the top of its arc.

Fingers closed about its bloodied end.

Marcus frowned. He turned to meet the cold blue eyes of Peter Hale.

"Oh, _I_ could suggest a few," the alpha said with a light smile.

"Who the hell -?"

Marcus's question gurgled into nothing as a shadow swept in and caught him by the throat. The man was lifted off his feet and hurled into the rusted stack of machinery. He hit the ground, dragging pieces of equipment with him. The shadow retreated to Peter's shoulder, baring his fangs at the half buried man.

The pit of Derek's stomach filled with ice. "_Scott_?"

He flinched at the glare which shot his way. His gut filled with dread. The boy's hair was drenched in sweaty curls. His clothes hung loose, frayed and battered by a trek through the forest. His skin had been raked by stray branches, though the lines were quickly fading. But his eyes...

Derek fought down the bubbling urge to shiver. The bright gold had diminished into a shifting haze of dull red. No life or intelligence existed behind them. Or if they did, they were carefully guarded by a glassy sheen. Scott stared him down without the slightest trace of recognition.

It was eerie, even by werewolf standards.

Was this how he had been while under Peter's influence?

"Scott…"

The teenager started towards him with a growl building in his chest. Then, a pale hand glided over his shoulder and he froze. Peter came from behind him, clucking his tongue. "Now, now, Scott, we know Derek, don't we?"

Scott looked up at the bound werewolf and a frown creased his brow. Derek glared back at him, helplessly. He wracked his brain for something that might reignite the young man's mind. But with Peter lingering at his shoulder, and in complete control, there was nothing to be done. Teeth clenched in frustration, Derek cut his attention to his uncle.

"Let him go."

The alpha smiled with chilled confidence. "The time of persuasion is gone, Derek. Mr. McCall's allegiance requires a more direct approach." He cast a smug glance over his docile beta. "I'm taking charge."

"You can't do this, Pete! It's a disgrace to the pack!"

The amusement was wiped from Peter's face. "As I recall, your father took control of individuals many times, just to prove a point." He tipped his head, quizzically. "Where were your complaints then?"

"That was _training_!" Derek spat, his eyes flashing a dangerous blue. "He never used his authority to make a kid kill for him!"

"Details," Peter shrugged.

Derek jerked against his cuffs, his fangs descending in fury, but his next words were cut off by a low moan. All three werewolves glanced aside as Marcus cursed and struggled his way out of the mess he'd created. Bracing himself on an elbow, he sent a scathing look their way.

"Speaking of which," Peter's mouth curved with a slow smile. "Scott, stifle that."

Scott blinked, dully, and looked to the downed Hunter.

"No!" Derek roared, lunging forward. The chains clattered as they drug him back. "Scott, don't!" Cloudy eyes flicked to him. Derek lifted his lip to fully expose his teeth. "Don't."

"He deserves it," Peter snarled, circling to face the teen. His eyes ignited in the shadows. "This man tried to kill our kin. He must die."

The alpha's malice hit the air in a wave so pungent that even Derek's vision wavered. His mouth watered, picking up the fear and hatred rolling from the human. The combination was potent, very potent, and for the first time he took relief knowing his chains would keep him immobile.

His eyes lifted, wearily, to see Scott swaying where he stood. The younger beta shook his head, side-to-side, and sank to his haunches. A low growl of stubborn resolution rolled from his chest as he glared the man down from beneath his brow.

"Scott, kill it," Peter hissed in that strange mixture of English and guttural snarls which created werewolf speech.

He shook his head, in defiance this time, his eyes fixed on Marcus as if he were the last tether to the earth. Just behind his eyes raged the awful urge to obey his alpha's command, yet he did not move. Derek felt a strange twinge of pride to see the boy fight so.

And, had Marcus remained still, that night would have gone very different.

But the man had seen too much since his allegiance with the Hunters. He'd witnessed too many scenes of mutilation and destruction. He had attended too many funerals and watched too many beasts write in their last flailing moments before death took them.

Mercy had never been prevalent in the war with the wolves.

And, having spent the night torturing a member of this pack, he couldn't see it taking a prominent role in the immediate future, either. Besides, it's hard to determine what is hunger and what is concentration in a werewolf's face.

In other words, he panicked.

Yanking free of the equipment, Marcus stumbled on jittery legs. His hand flew out to steady himself and sliced along a jagged piece of machinery. He went down again with a yelp of pain, clutching his palm to his chest. Red trickled down his arm.

Scott's pupils dilated.

"No..." Derek breathed.

Scott had a talent of restraint as far as any werewolf was concerned, let alone a two-month old. He hadn't succumbed to his thirst to hunt and feed on either of his full moons. He could pull himself back from the shift unlike anyone Derek had met before. And he had broken free of Peter's will more than once. He could fight the darker side of his nature, for whatever reason, he could do it.

But not with blood on the air.

"Take your time," Peter said, softly.

The boy shot forward.

"Scott!" Derek roared, unheard.

Marcus fell back, uttering a slew of profanity. His good hand caught hold of a loose chunk of metal and he flung it at the approaching wolf. Scott paused as it struck his shoulder and bounced away, harmless. He glanced after it before refocusing on the human before him. The restless, shifting gold and reds of his irises solidified into a deep maroon.

Marcus swore.

He looked past the werewolf and found the older man's gaze was identical. The alpha graced him with a small smile before muttering something too low for the human to catch. Then two devastating punches rocked his vision.

He retreated from the attack, shuffling aside on his rear. Scott cracked his neck and followed with slow, contemplative steps.

"Peter," Derek whispered to his uncle. "Please, don't do this."

"I need loyalty in my pack," Peter said. "The Argents are gathering their ranks. If I don't act now, they will." His face darkened. "I've already witnessed the price of inaction."

Derek shook his head as the human let out a painful wail. "There are other ways of gaining loyalty!"

"Slow and ineffective ways."

Marcus raised an arm in defense and then screamed as it was shattered.

Derek flinched as a spritz of red angled across Scott's face. The man's wail was lost beneath an elated roar. "Dammit, Pete, you can't force him into the pack!"

Scott's claws raked upward along the man's back, shredding leather and flesh alike. The man scrambled towards the exit.

"He doesn't even want to _be_ one of us!"

The alpha's brow fell and he finally set his cold gaze upon his nephew. "Doesn't he?"

His cheek slammed into the bars as Peter's palm pressed against his skull. "He seems to be enjoying himself from _my_ angle. Wouldn't you agree?" The beta closed his eyes as another agonized howl came from the hall. Peter's smile deepened.

"This won't...gain you an ally," Derek sneered. "He'll fight you, Pete. Soon as he realizes what you've done." Peter snarled, his grip tightening until claws pierced the other's scalp. His eyes flashed red, reflected for an instant in Derek's own. Then he drew back and considered Marcus' weak pleading.

"You are begging to spare a Hunter's life, you know," the alpha growled. "I'm not comfortable with that idea at all, Derek."

The nephew pushed against the iron grip until their eyes locked. "I'm not asking...for him."

Peter's lip curled and he rolled his neck towards the hall. The pressure vanished from Derek's temple and instantly closed about his wrist. Derek hissed as the metal crushed into his flesh. The cuff broke beneath Peter's palm, dropping the pieces and Derek's numb arm.

Sharp pins attacked the limb, stinging his fingers as he rolled his shoulder. Peter took hold of the chain above the other manacle and jerked it straight from the ceiling.

Dust and cement rained onto the beta as he caught himself on trembling legs. He looked up as Peter stepped aside with his small smile.

"You want to _spare_ Scott from his fate? Then take his kill from him, if you can."

Derek shoved off the bars, stumbling for his balance before sprinting across the room. His throat caught fire and a deep pain dug across his abdomen as two days without food made themselves known. His feet Slipped in the man's blood as he followed the trail out into the hall.  
>Rounding the corner, he slid to a halt.<p>

Marcus' legs hand finally given out on him and he now sat beneath one of the sputtering lights. Blood leaked along his cheek and from the corner of his mouth. He glared through swollen eyes at the beast before him. Scott held them man to the wet bricks, his fist full of black undershirt. The boy crouched on his haunches, his face inches from the man's as he studied him, curiously.

Scott's nostrils suddenly flared and he leapt back, dragging Marcus with him. The hunter let out a yelp as he his chest hit the damp floor. His good arm wormed beneath him in an attempt to rise. He looked up to find himself sprawled between the two werewolves.

Derek leaned, heavily, against the wall, the chain of his cuff dangling near the floor. Scott stood over his prey with a challenging growl rumbling through him. His shoe came down between Marcus' shoulders and the man's cheek bounced off cement.

Derek sighed and pushed himself to stand on his own. He moved forward with slow steps and lifted empty, placating hands. "Easy."

Scott's eyes snapped between his palms and he spread his shoulders. His weight eased over the pinned man, possessively. Marcus sucked a breath between his teeth, drawing the older beta's gaze.

Absently, Derek wiped at his chin, smearing blood across his knuckles. The wound had already sealed, but it did nothing to soothe his pride. Had circumstances been different, he would have repaid the hunter a hundred times over for his actions that night. Instead, he could only give the man a look of disdain before returning his attention on how to save the idiot.

"Let him up, Scott," he commanded, quietly. "Let him go."

Fangs gleamed even in the poor light.

"You don't want to kill him, kid. You know that." He paused in the shadow, allowing a familiar prickle to run the length of his spine. His voice grew deeper, abandoning its humanity. "Think of the bus driver. Remember how worried you were, thinking you had hurt him?"

Scott cocked his head, wariness lining his brow as the fully transformed beta entered the light. He adjusted his weight, uneasily, glancing past Derek's shoulder in search of the alpha.

Derek continued forward, slow and unchallenging. "There's no going back from this, Scott. I can't undo this for you." He rolled his shoulders, trying to distract from the blood and fear saturating the air. "Just let him go."

Scott's face relaxed, his spine straightening as he considered Derek's advance. He hesitated only a second before his foot lifted from the man. The darker beta gave him an encouraging nod, keeping his own scowl safely in place. Scott fell back a step, then another, and again until his shirt touched the dripping wall. Yellow seeped back into his eyes.

"D-Derek?" The name was mutilated through elongated canines, but the guttural sound was nothing but relief. Derek's shoulders fell as he gave his usual, impassive nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey, kid."

Scott took in their dank surroundings. "I don't...w-where are -" His gaze fell to the wounded man, who was still wheezing and struggling between them, and he went rigid. Vibrant gold fell to his own soaked hands. Human fear bit through his hardened features and he fell against the bricks with a faint whimper.

"Oh, man. Oh,man,oh,man,oh,man..." His palms frantically smeared at his pant legs.

A groan came from the floor, catching Derek's ear.

"A kid..." Marcus spat, trying to push himself up. "A damn..._kid_?"

Derek sneered and jabbed a finger in his face. "You want to live? Then shut up." He limped across the hall and eased his fingers over the boy's exposed shoulder. "He'll survive, Scott."

The teen's eyes narrowed but could not be pulled from the hunter. His hands trembled. "I didn't do that...I didn't do that..."

Derek's teeth flashed and he gave the other a sharp shove into the bricks. "I know you didn't," he snapped. He caught the tattered threads hanging before Scott's chest, forcing him to meet his eyes. "But you can't zone out on me, kid. Don't you get it? _Peter's_ here."

Slow dawning etched across the boy's face. His reached for his forehead only to receive another harsh shove. "Did you hear me? Scott, we can't -"

He bucked, suddenly, his head thrown back in agony.

"Derek!" Scott made a grab for his arm and then screamed as his own spine arched. They both went down, Derek sprawling on his back while Scott hit his shoulder, clutching at his hair.

Marcus retreated from the writhing frames. Their teeth snapped at nothing and their feet scrambled, frantic to get their weight beneath them. The hall filled with low whines and sudden bursts of screams. Marcus pushed against the opposite wall, huddling to create as much distance between them as he could manage

"What's wrong wit'..."

He froze at the soft clicking of a tongue. Turning, he found the older werewolf strolling up the hall. One arm was angled before him, draped by Derek's jacket. The other was buried in the pocket of his overcoat.

"So disappointing, boys. I ask one simple thing and yet you still try to fight." He drew even with Marcus and gave him a light smile. "Kids today."

Marcus curled his lip. "Go to hell, you monster."

Peter's face fell. "No, thank-you." He wandered past the man and knelt at his nephew's side. Derek had made it to his stomach and glared at the alpha, helplessly. Reaching down, Peter traced the dark tattoo between the beta's shoulder blades.

Spittle flew from Derek's clenched teeth. His muscles strained before suddenly going limp. His back hitched with weak panting, ignoring the younger wolf who was still twisting in pain behind him.

Peter observed them for a moment before he tipped his head. "Derek?"

His eyes flew open, blood-red and empty, angling upwards to find the leader. Marcus watched in horrified silence as the older creature smiled and rose. "Come along."

A few second's delay and then Derek was pushing himself up. His canine features retracted as he moved so that by time he had gained his feet, he was fully human once more. Natural hazel eyes drowned out the evidence of the alpha's control. He drew a heavy breath through his nose before limping, stiffly, after his uncle.

"Scott," Peter said over his shoulder. The teenage werewolf growled, but obediently lifted his head. The alpha jerked his chin to the side. "Finish up."

Cold dread snaked up Marcus' spine as the boy turned his maroon filled eyes upon him once more. All fear and regret were wiped from his face. The hunter flashed his own teeth as the wolf rolled to his feet. Two soft steps closed the distance between them.

"I...I ain't scared of a kid," he muttered through his aching jaw. He drew his broken arm closer, sitting straighter against the wall. "Y'hear me, boy?" Scott's fangs gleamed in the buzzing light. "I said I ain't scared of a -"

Blood spat along the wall.


	5. The Calm Before

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Teen Wolf or its characters.

The Calm Before

_The fog was thick, more befitting an Irish moor rather than the California pines. Allison ran, her normal jogging route flying beneath her feet, fueled by a terror she'd never known before. Her shoes sank into the soft undergrowth of the forest, threatening to catch her toes at any second._

_She shot a peek over her shoulder and couldn't stop the squeak of fear. Lazy strides kept an easy pace behind her. Red eyes shone through the dark without an ounce of urgency. Night fell from its shoulders and frost slid past its fangs. A monstrosity in the shape of a giant wolf, twisted by malice and driven by murder itself._

_And with every pump of her legs, the distance between them closed._

_The ground beneath her vanished and Allison pitched forward. She hit hard, striking her shoulder and continuing to tumble down the hill. Twigs nipped at her arms and snagged her hair. Her jeans were torn by jutting rocks and entangled brambles. She slid to a halt, the back of her jacket and shirt hiked up so dirt could scrape at her spine._

_She rolled to her stomach, whimpering as every stinging cut made itself known. Looking up the hill, she saw the beast framed against the sky. Twin beams of light scoured the trees for her, the massive head easing from side to side with a fluidity no Hollywood effects team could master. Then, a paw descended. Then another. Another. The last._

_It came with smooth control, still in no rush. She shivered at the soft snuffling which came from its searching nostrils._

_Allison eased herself into a crouch, trying to swallow back the pain radiating from her knees. Why had she come out here? Why had she thought she stood a chance to find Scott? What chance had she at reconciling with him? How could she even look him in the face after what her family had done?_

_The monster paused, tipping its head. She shivered, watching it from beneath the leafy branches of her landing place. A great pink tongue flicked at sharpened incisors, gliding between its fangs. It stood with terrifying patience, content to wait for her next move._

_She couldn't lie there forever._

_It knew that._

_Grinding her teeth, she gathered strength into her legs. Her fingers dug into slick and decaying leaves. She saw the cloud of its breath rise through the darkness. She lunged to her feet, taking off to the right. A roar blasted the night and she felt the ground tremble as it followed._

_Tears blurred the trees around her. Her lungs burned with each breath. Fear tightened the muscles of her legs until she felt that no matter how hard she pushed herself, its fangs would claim her throat. There was no escaping that fate, yet something deep inside her refused to just fall over and let it have her._

_She was an Argent, after all._

_She slashed through a trailing veil of branches and froze._

_Just like that, everything changed. The howls of the monster behind her died. The panic in her chest loosened. Every thought of escape vanished like a candle flame being blown out._

_Moonlight shone through the canopy, clean and crisp, and illuminating the meadow before her. Tiny white flowers spread in a wide blanket at her feet. The grass beneath their delicate petals was lost in swirls of blue. Fireflies winked against the dark shroud of trees encircling her. And the merry gurgle of water offered a peace she hadn't felt in weeks._

_All of that aside, she gaped at the figure standing above the stream. His hands were tucked into his pockets. His weight shifted over to one leg. The tail of his dress shirt hung messily behind him. His back was to her, head cocked up towards the moon. Unruly dark hair was traced in silver._

_"Scott?"_

_He started and turned to face her. Familiar brown eyes met hers, touched with concern._

_"What are you doing here?"_

_She let out a soft sob of relief and bolted for him. Their chests smacked together as she landed in his arms. She buried her nose into the warmth of his neck. His arms circled her, tenderly._

_"I didn't know it was you…" she whispered. "I didn't know you were the one they were looking for…Scott, if I had…"_

_He sighed and touched his chin to her temple. _

_She sniffed and pulled him closer, if only to verify that she really had a hold of him. "I had to find you...you had to know that I didn't know..."_

_His shoulders relaxed. "I know."_

_"I'm not letting you go, Scott. I won't let them..."_

_His hand rose to press her cheek into the crook of his neck. Her tears smeared over his skin. "You'd take me? Over them?"_

_She stilled and looked up at him. His brow was puckered; worried, wary. Drawing a shaky breath, she set her lips to his, inhaling that intoxicating taste that was only his. He returned his affection, mildly, pulling back after a moment. Allison swallowed and lowered her eyes with a nod._

_Scott looked away. "I wondered if you would…"_

_She looked up, but her hopefulness was caught and shattered as she saw the smile overtake his face. A smile crowded with too many teeth._

_"But…" His eyes ignited, swirling yellow. "Loyalty just isn't an option anymore."_

_"Scott?"_

_He shoved her, pushing her back and back, his hands fixed tight about her biceps. She glanced down to steady her footing and screamed. The white flowers were crushed, trampled by large splotches of darkness. Almost as if…bodies had been lying there. The petals were drenched in red. Blood slithered from beneath their stems and trickled around their feet, spilling over into the stream._

_Allison looked back up into a set of fangs stained red. A bright smear ran over his chin. Her fingers were tangled in his torn and tattered shirt. His flesh was covered in filth and earth and three wide gashes cut across his chest. She jerked her hands back and tried to break from him._

_Scott gave his tongue a helpless click and then whipped her around. Allison was slammed against his chest, his arm cutting across her to pin her neck against his shoulder. She clawed at his hand, pushing against his unyielding strength with a choked noise._

_He swayed, slightly, grinding her spine against his hardened abdomen. "I loved you, Allison. Really, I did."_

_Terrified brown eyes stared up at amused gold._

_"But I am what I am." He leaned in to trace her ear with his tongue. Hot tears stung her eyes and she struggled to wrench away from him. He hummed with a voice so much darker than his own. "You should have stayed away."_

_"Scott..." Allison pleaded as teeth skimmed down her neck. "Don't…"_

_Fire shot through her as fangs sank deep –_

* * *

><p>"Stop!" Allison slammed her fists against the windowsill. "Stop it, Argent!"<p>

She panted and ran her palm along her neck, fighting down the ghostly pain of her daydream gone bad. Sighing, she dropped her forehead against the glass, allowing the cold to creep through her bangs and permeate through her skin. She stared at the carpet until the images faded away.

Reason 18 she couldn't go after Scott: What if he turned on her? And why shouldn't he?

She couldn't imagine a scenario where this night might end in her favor. She had gone through every possible situation that might occur. When it wasn't her getting eaten alive, it was images of Scott being riddled with bullets as they tried to reconcile. Or that alpha monster showed up to kill them all. Or her father tried to intervene and got himself killed. Or. Or. _Or..._

Ugh. And all of them played out like some ridiculous horror flick from the sixties. She didn't want to be the hapless girl in distress. She didn't want to be the doomed lover of the monster. She didn't want to be the one to send a silver bullet through her boyfriend's skull.

But what did that leave her? The girlfriend of the guy who killed people? The supportive, understanding mistress willing to flee from place to place until the Hunters found out where they lived and tracked them down? The one to eventually be screaming at the police that he didn't know what he was doing? That's a winning position, wasn't it?

Fangs gleamed with a knowing smile behind her eyes. She stamped on the image.

Scott wasn't a monster. He couldn't be.

Movement caught her eyes beyond the first floor's roof. Men and women filtered out of the house, waving good-byes and laughing as if they were departing a holiday party. The vehicles clogging her driveway broke away, one-by-one, and vanished into the night. Where were they all going?"

_Scott will be there…_

Where they going to hunt? Tonight?

_They'll find him…_

What if the alpha was with him too?

_Who all gets to die tonight, girlie?_

She shook her head and pushed from the window to pace. A part of her wanted to go downstairs. To scream and fight and kick some reasoning into her parents. To escape and find her friends so they could search for him. They were most likely still at the dance, right? It wasn't that late. She could probably sneak out and get to the school before her parents noticed she was gone. She could do it. She could do it. She could do it.

Unfortunately, practicality also had a say in her plans.

Her parents probably had someone watching the roof for her. She'd left her keys in Jackson's car since there were no pockets in her formal dress. She didn't have her cell phone, that too, was in Jackson's car. And who would believe her? The only one who possibly would was Stiles...and now that she thought about it, he had to know already what his best friend was...

_He got it past you, didn't he?_

She let out an indignant cry of frustration and kicked her bed, catching her little toe on one of the legs.

"Ow!" She bit back a string of curses and sat down, rubbing her now throbbing digit. Her lip trembled without her consent and suddenly she couldn't stop the tears from leaking down her cheeks. She buried her face in her palms and rocked herself back and forth. If Stiles already knew, what were the odds he wasn't already out there helping Scott hide from her family?

From her?

It was too much, all of it. No matter how light-hearted Kate tried to make it, there was no coping with this...

Hey, kid, did you know that _werewolves_ really exist?

By the way, your family is in charge of hunting them down and killing them. How's that?

Oh, and that guy you like so much? He's actually one of them so…happy hunting! Heh?

If she escaped this night without ending up in a strait-jacket, it would be a miracle.

It was like she'd stumbled over a line. A line sane people weren't meant to ever go near. Now, she was stuck with one foot back in the world of reality (where her boyfriend was a little unusual, and she had a chemistry report due, and she was supposed to go see the new Zach Efron movie with Lydia) and some alternate universe where her parents were guerilla fighters against evil, monsters really did live under the bed, and Scott was some creature which had escaped a fairy tale.

The worst part was, she didn't even have a choice which world she would prefer to live in. The curtain had been withdrawn and no matter how hard she tried to fight it back into place, there was no going back.

Sniffing to herself, she looked across the street, past the rooftops, to the mountains framed against the stars. Her fingers folded before her mouth and she whispered.

"Be safe, Scott…"

Down the hall, steady fingers had eased beneath the cracked window in her parents' room. Pale claws squeaked against the glass as the wooden frame slid upward.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm a bum, that's my only excuse…That, and I'm not a big fan of the "dream-sequence" type scene, so I've been iffy about this chapter for a while. I'd like to hear your critiques and suggestions though! I'm really excited about the next few chapters, so they should be coming fairly quickly! Spoiler alert! Peter's a-comin'!


	6. Doubtful

**Disclaimer**: If you recognize it, I don't own it...Ben! I'll claim Ben as my own. Surly flash-in-the-pan hunter, that's mine!

A/N: One more entry for 2011! Thank you all for your reviews, I love them so!

* I apologize if Victoria seems OOC, I don't do many "couple" scenes, probably for a reason...But she can't always be standing around with a plate of cookies and a hit list ready to go, right? XD

Doubtful

"_Hey, everyone, it's Allison. Sorry you missed me, but if you leave me a mess -"_

The phone's internal bell gave a tinny whine as the receiver slammed back into the cradle. "I wouldn't _need_ to leave a message if you would _pick up your cell!_" Stiles bellowed at the keypad.

The nurse on the other side of the desk looked up, sharply. He turned his attention to her. "Every time! Every time I try to help, no one picks up their phone! The whole town's falling down around us and...what, they're blocking my calls? Damn you, Caller-ID!"

She blinked and lowered her pen to her tablet. Rising from her seat, she delicately plucked the ancient device from between his fists. "I think you need to find a better place to vent, sir."

He glanced aside to meet several curious sets of eyes watching from the Emergency waiting room. He slowly unclenched his fists and slid sweaty palms over the laminate. "Sorry...I just..." She lifted an impatient brow and he pushed from the counter. "Sorry."

"That's fine," she said with the definitive you're-pissing-me-off-but-I-have-to-stay-civil-to-keep-my-job voice. Sensing it was time to make himself scarce, Stiles flashed an apologetic wave to the patients and speed walked his way out of the ER.

His heels scuffed down the hall until he spotted Jackson waiting outside Lydia's room. His tux was rumpled and bloodied and he looked even paler than usual. The curtains had been drawn, yet he still stared into the glass which separated him from his ex.

Stiles studied the open space beside him. He had just as much right to that fretting nook as Jackson did, didn't he? After all, he was still considered Lydia's date for the night, wasn't he? He should have the reserved spot outside her room...Then again, the idea of sharing a window pane with Jackson?

Not so appealing.

He could see the signs leading towards the bathrooms and cafeteria further down the hall. He could also see his father speaking with Lydia's doctor. He'd have to pass them in the process. Even less appealing.

Stiles had already been grounded until Judgment Day for disappearing and scaring the life out of his dad _again_. He hadn't even bothered to defend himself. Only "yes-sirred" and "no-sirred" his way through the sheriff's fury.

After spending his night helping the local psycho track down his equally deranged nephew, the wrath of Sheriff Stilinski felt like a reward for good behavior.

Whoo-hoo.

He sidled towards an empty section of wall near a maintenance closet and set his shoulder against the wooden doorframe. Employees and visitors meandered by, sparing him as much interest as he returned to them.

"Damn it, Scott," he breathed, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Where are you?"

The residual dregs of that howl he'd heard drifted behind his ears. It coupled with the sight of Peter's grin growing in the moonlight and produced a heavy pit of dread in his gut. His skin tingled with an inevitable feeling that he was missing out on something big going down tonight. Something he was sure he wanted no part of. Something his best friend couldn't escape.

Not this time...

"Stiles?"

"Ho, geez!" His knees buckled and his shoulder slammed off the wall. He spun around as the nurse gave a startled yelp and jumped back. Her fingers spread over her chest and she took his shoulder to brace against.

He smiled, sheepishly. "Sorry, Mrs. M."

"That's okay," she shook her head in exasperation. "I needed something to wake me up."

He gave a hollow laugh and returned his attention down the hall. Melissa drew level with his elbow, folding her arms loosely.

"That poor girl." Stile closed his eyes. She chanced a sideways peek towards him. "I...I overheard that boy telling your father...she was your date tonight?"

He nodded.

"How you holding up?"

His shoulders lifted and he flashed a smile that felt more like a grimace.

"You didn't see it happen, did you?"

_Lydia hit the grass and slid. A great black stain already spread over the side of her dress. Peter stood above her, considering her a moment before he gracefully eased to one knee. His head lifted with a growl as Stiles dropped beside her shoulder, babbling in terror._

_Blood trickled from the werewolf's lower lip._

"Stiles?"

"I didn' see anythin'," he said thickly, fixing his eyes on the closet. "She went to find Jackson. I wasn't...there..."

"Oh, kid." He flinched as a gentle hand eased across his shoulders. Melissa turned him into her and brought his head down to rest against the curve of her neck. She shushed him, her fingers tracing natural, maternal patterns paths down his back. A part of him resisted, insisted to push away from the hands which were not his mother's.

But the other part, the bit that only had fragmented memories of this kind of comfort, relished the contact. He stilled and let her do her mother-thing until the tightness in his throat diminished. Yet, his arms remained folded between them, keeping a shallow barrier in place, refusing to allow his best friend's mom near that specific, painful hole he never intended to fill.

But it lessened the hollowness of his gut a little, and that felt good.

Melissa set him back and wiped her thumb beneath his eye even though he hadn't shed any tears. "She'll be okay, kid. It's not your fault."

"'Cha," he scoffed. "That's what they tell me."

She smiled and chucked him, lightly, beneath the chin. "Stay smiling, Stiles. It'll turn out fine." She made to move away and then paused. "Hey, have you heard from Scott?"

"What?" His eyes flew up to hers.

"It's just..." She bit her lip, glancing towards Jackson, and then stepped closer. "I thought he would have been here with you. He hasn't been answering my calls all night and...with this animal still on the loose..." She sighed and set a finger to her temple. "I'm being the uncool, paranoid mom now, aren't I?"

She glanced up when Stiles didn't answer. It was only when his eyes met hers that he released the tension in his shoulders with a sharp, high-pitched laugh.

"Scott! When's Scott ever pick up the phone these days?" He made a dismissive grunt deep in his throat and shrugged.

Melissa eyed him, uncertainly. "That's true...He probably met up with Allison like he was planning, huh?"

"That's the one I'd pick, if I could." He could feel his teeth drying with his fake grin. _"Totally_."

"Totally," she agreed, trying to match his enthusiasm.

They sighed into silence.

Stiles fidgeted, wiping at his mouth. "But you know? I could swing by her place. See if they went there?"

Her eyes widened. "No. Oh, no, no." She waved her hand, brushing the offer aside. "I imagine you want to stay here with your friend."

He followed her gaze towards Jackson. His elbow was propped against the window with his fingers raking back blonde hair. The look he aimed at the floor made him seem even more unhinged than he had been of late.

Tempting...

"No, I'm gonna go," he said, circling around her. "Besides, they should know about this, right? They should be here."

"Stiles -"

"I'll find him," he nodded his determination, taking off along the hall. He only got about ten feet when he paused. His head fell.

"Mrs. M?"

She glanced back as he turned and lifted empty, helpless hands.

"Can I borrow your car?"

* * *

><p>"I want three man patrols on constant guard around the town's perimeter. No one goes into the forest tonight, not until they get a feel for the area. Everyone is to be out of sight come sunup, understood?"<p>

Chris waited for the bigger man's curt nod as he followed the Hunter towards the front door. Cars were dispersing from his driveway like a convention had just released. They'd have to do something about the sheer volume of traffic before the neighbors figured out there was more than a family gathering happening over at the Argent place. Just item #94 on his to-do list.

"Sean and Jake aren't to be on a patrol together," he continued, glaring out at his front lawn. "I'm not spending another night in the ER trying to explain how those idiots accidently shot each other again."

He got another affirmative nod before he stepped back and set his hands on his hips. "I've never seen an alpha this nasty, Ben. Keep everyone on alert out there."

"'Course," Ben grunted.

"Good, good," Chris sniffed and looked to the carpet. "Anything else?"

Ben paused and glanced toward him beneath a furrowed brow. "Yeah..." His chin jerked towards the stairs. "Give yer girl some time. She be aw'ight."

Chris blinked, taken aback. He flashed an uneasy smile and patted the man on the shoulder, dismissing him. "Have a good hunt, Ben."

The hunter dropped his chin and ambled from the house, closing the door behind him. Chris stared after him for a moment. He rubbed at a knot growing at the base of his neck and walked towards the living room.

Metal jangled at his back and he turned, wearily. "Where do you think you're going?"

Kate gave him a coy smile and waved her keys against her palm. "Just going to check on something."

"You not _seriously_ going to torture that kid some more?" he asked, folding his arms.

She tilted her head, sticking out her lower lip. "We all have our tricks to unwind after a hard day's work." She grinned at the unamusement radiating from him and rolled her eyes. "I'm just going to _check_, Chris. Then I'll be back to stew and pace in front of the fireplace with you. Just like the good sister I am."

And then she left before he could argue.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing into the living room. He didn't know what possessed him to even try anymore. His sister had never followed a single order their father had given, why on earth would he expect her to follow his?

His hands fumbled with the buckle of his belt and he swung it around to drape both his pistol and cell phone on the coffee table. Letting out a groan, he sank into his favorite armchair and plucked his abandoned beer from the end table. He didn't drink though, only swirled the contents now and again to hear the liquid churn. His head fell back.

Soft hand came from above, brushing his shoulders before gliding down his chest.

"You know, loving husbands help their wives with the dishes." He smiled and tilted his head towards the voice. "Are you all right?"

His hand closed about Victoria's and he led her around until she was seated upon his armrest. Her fingers slid through his hair in a soothing rhythm as he thought on the question.

"Am I good man, Vic?"

Sharp eyes widened, instantly filling with wrath. "Who suggested you weren't?"

"Me?"

Her fingers tightened on his and she moved to face him, directly. "Christopher Argent. That is the most inane thing you have ever asked me."

"But isn't it valid?" She frowned at the quiet fear in his face. Chris shook his head. "My whole life, I have followed a code designed to rid the world of a great evil. Every decision I've made has been dictated by men who have been dead for centuries..."

Her mouth thinned in disapproval.

"I've carried out their war year after year and what have I gained? A few scars. A couple trophies. And a lot of bad memories." He glanced up with a nervous smile. "And a lot of good ones, too."

Victoria smirked and returned to stroking his hair.

"I'm just tired, Vic." He leaned his forehead into her chest. "And I don't see a day coming where I'll get to rest."

"You're the leader of the Hunters, Argent," she said quietly. "Until the wolves are gone, you don't get to rest." She stilled, a frown pulling at her brow. "Unless you're thinking of handing off your title to someone else?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Good. Because the Council's list of potential successors for you is pathetic." He chuckled and she cocked her head, thoughtfully. "So, what are you trying to say, Chris?"

He flicked his wrist, sending more bubbles roiling through the beer. "Just thinking out loud. Trying to figure out when I lost my sister to the hunt. And when I missed the moment when my daughter began to pull away from me." His head fell back again. "And just when I became the type of man who declares war on a sixteen year old kid."

His wife's face softened. She ran her fingers along the thick calluses of his knuckles. "What can I do to help?"

A blue eye cracked towards her. "Tell me you love me?"

"I love you."

He smiled. "Like you mean it, Vic."

Her eyes crinkled, mischievously. "I...adore you. I respect you. I'd follow you anywhere, Mr. Argent." She leaned forward to kiss his brow. "You are the most dedicated, courageous," she pressed her lips to his temple, to the curve of his cheek, "most loyal man I have ever known. Of _course_ you're a good man..."

Chris hummed in his throat when she found the corner of his mouth. But she drew away when he tried to meet her. "If only...you'd dry the dishes..."

He blinked and then his shoulders fell in defeat. Victoria winked and pulled him into a hug.

"No more of this questioning business. No one criticizes my husband. Not even you."

His eyes rolled. "My wife, ever the romantic."

"A hopeless one...with a gun."

An eyebrow lifted. His hands drifted along the bottom of her blouse. "Interesting."

The doorbell rang.

Chris grunted, not breaking their embrace. "Quick, get the lights. We're not home."

She laughed and unwound his arms. "That will be Samantha. She left her pocketbook." Her hands pushed from his chest. "I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Cruel woman," he muttered after her. She didn't look back, but wiggled her fingers over her shoulder. Chris shook his head and rose, stretching. "Kitchen...kitchen..."

The bell rang again and then again. Impatient. He frowned towards the door as his wife picked up her pace. "Coming!"

Again. Insistent.

The hair on his neck lifted. Tension coiled up his spine.

"Vic, wait!"

She turned the handle.

Their front door exploded inward, throwing her against the steps. It broke off its hinges, hitting the wall with a splintering crack and sending shards of wood everywhere. Victoria barely had time to push herself up before a shadow shot into their house, landing with one foot on either side of her waist.

She cried out, enraged, and struck at the man. Calmly, he reached down and buried his fingers into her hair. He yanked her up and slammed her head into the ridge of a step. Victoria went limp.

"You son of -" Chris bellowed, charging towards them.

The bay window behind him erupted. His arms lifted to shield himself from flying shards of glass before he fully understood what had happened. He just met the seething eyes of Derek Hale glaring at him over the banister when a palm closed about the back of his neck.

His feet lost the ground and he had an instant of weightlessness before he struck the wall. Trinkets and photos rained around him as he tumbled to the carpet. He rolled to his knees, hissing as fire consumed his shoulder.

His head lifted towards the coffee table, where his pistol waited for him. Scrambling forward, Chris made a lunge for it. His fingers grazed the leather holster.

A heel connected with his exposed ribcage. He flipped across his living room floor until his side slammed into the fireplace. Pain sliced through his inflamed arm and he shoved himself to his back with a gasp. He tried to right himself -

His shoulders hit the carpet again with a foot planted squarely in his chest. His attacker leaned over him. His forearms rested on his bended knee and cool, fathomless eyes surveyed the hunter.

A pleasant smile overtook the man's mouth. He tipped his head, politely.

"Hello, Argent."

* * *

><p>* Have a great New Year's everyone! Stay safe out there!<p> 


	7. Houseguests

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Teen Wolf or Dave Kessler from American Werewolf in London...

A/N: An eternally grateful thank-you to the wonderful fountainxxpenny for all your help on this chapter. I hope you enjoy the changes made...

Houseguests

Allison turned from the window, swiping the wetness from her eyes. Her fingers scrubbed across her forehead with short, fast strokes before falling to trace her lower lip. Twisting, she draped her arm over the back of her chair and frowned at her desk.

Her homework had been carefully piled on the left corner of her work space. Three notebooks and her math book were topped by the small, faded volume which Kate had given her for her history project. How much time had she'd spent pouring over those yellowed and water-marked pages, completely oblivious to the present day monsters infiltrating her life?

She sighed as her focus shifted to the dark computer screen. She rose, dragging her chair to it's proper place and shook the mouse to rouse the laptop. Dark eyes reflected a white sheen as her favorite search site pulled up.

"Seen the good guys," she muttered, setting her fingers to the keyboard. "What else do we know about the bad ones?"

A black line flashed at the head of the search bar, patiently beating against her eyes. Demanding a single question.

Well? Well? Well? Well? Well?

Taking her lip between her teeth, she tapped a key.

W.

The letter appeared, stark black against bland white. Stomach tightening, she blew out a breath and moved her hand again.

E.

The bar fell, eager to guess what she might be looking for. Weather? Webster? Welt? Well? Well? Well?

R.

Werewolf?

The screen filled with dozens of images. Snarling siloughettes. Wild, rolling eyes. Wicked, curling lips. Medival jaws clamped upon the middles of wailing women. Teeth ever parted in furious but silent howls. David Kessler wide-eyed and sweaty, trapped half-way between his agonizing transformation.

But behind every photo scrolling up her screen, were the vivid gold eyes that had gazed up at her through a grimy bus window. Eyes full of regret and confusion, but certainly not this depicted madness. An animal's presence might have overtaken him, but Scott had been in that crouching form too. She knew it.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

She could still see a pointed ear protruding from dark curls, each hair illuminated in the harsh headlights.

Bing-bong! Bing-bong! Bing-

Allison's head flew upward as a deafening crack shuddered the house. A muffled voice rose from downstairs only to be swallowed by the scream of shattering glass.

"Mom!" Allison bolted from her chair, wincing as her twisted ankle gave a reminding bite. She stuck her head out into the hall. "Dad?"

Something heavy struck the wall. She limped towards the stairs, her stomach sinking with each step. More thuds and splintering cracks of wood continued from the downstairs until she had angled herself into the shadows of the hall. Steeling her nerve, she peeked around the corner.

Electricity flashed across her eyes as she threw her shoulders back against the wall. Both hands clamped over her mouth to keep her shock inisde. She could still see the strain in his chest as his spine arched in pain. His deafening roars still lingered in her ears. Her heart still twisted to see him strung up as he had been, weakened and defenseless against her aunt's teasings.

Nonetheless, Derek Hale was on her staircase.

How had he gotten out?

Why would he come here?

Was he after Kate?

Where _was_ Kate?

Where were her parents?

Why...why wasn't he coming upstairs?

Sucking a breath past her fingers, she inclined her head forward, inch by inch, until the werewolf came into sight. He remained as he had been with his shoulder facing her. His hand was curled about the railing and his eyes were locked on the living room. As she watched him, he suddenly shifted his weight and sank to his haunches, never sparing a glance towards the body between his feet.

Allison clenched her teeth as she recognized the flare of red hair against the pale carpet. Victoria was sprawled upon the lower steps, Derek's feet set on either side of her hips. Like an accident on the highway, Allison found she couldn't drag her eyes off her mother in such a state of vulnerability. Her fingers resting loosely curled where her hands had landed...Was she breathing? Allsion couldn't tell from her angle.

Her hands tightened into fists as Derek's tipped head became blurred. Nothing remained of the cool and confident boy who had introduced himself at that party two months ago. Nor did he have the wearied defiance that had struck her heart in the dungeon where he had been kept. Now he was harried and sallow-skinned with a faint sheen clinging to his hairline. It was like he had been emptied out, stripped even of his usual indifference.

But seeing him standing over the threshold of her ruined front door and hovering over the limp form of her mother, Allison Argent found she had no sympthay to muster towards him.

A calm, patient voice slowly crept into her consciousness. She couldn't make out the words, but her shoulders tightened when they ushered in a deeper response.

_Dad..._

Instantly, her eyes darkened towards the beta and her brow furrowed with determination. Drawing back, she turned and tip-toed back down the hall, carefully treading on the rugs to ensure the floor would not squeak beneath her.

She slipped, silently, out of sight just as the door to the master bedroom creaked open. A slice of moonlight widened over the floorboards.

* * *

><p>It was a horror he had never allowed himself to entertain. Made completely illogical by the generations of experience which proved that no alpha had ever been crazy enough to invade a hunter's territory.<p>

The reprocusions of such idiocy...The measures that have been taken in securing the chose locations...After all, who were the hunters in the war and who were the hunted? He had used all these arguments to stifle the concerns of his new recruits. Every speech was memorized to placating perfection. A dozen or so reasons why their fears were nonsense or unfounded.

But with two of the devils standing standing inside his own walls, Chris thought all of that seemed a bit too much like bull -

"I'm Peter," the creature said above him, never losing that cordial smile. Chris' teeth flashed, the heels of his hands braced against the polished shoe bearing down on his chest. Peter tipped his head to the right. "And I believe you're familiar with my nephew?"

Chris scowled at him, cursing the increasing throb building in his shoulder and the infuriating inability to throw the beast off.

"I understand you've been looking for me. I thought I'd save you the trouble and pay you a visit, Argent. Hopefully, we'll be able to sort a few things out without all those pesky..." He extended his thumb and index finger, curling the other three under as he aimed an invisible pistol at the hunter's forehead. He flicked his wrist up and lifted a brow. "Complications."

Two wolves inside his house while he had an entire army waiting for him on the other side of a phone call. His cell was lost somewhere in the shambles of the room, hiding out with his gun. Allison upstairs. He could only hope she had the sense to keep herself out of sight. Victoria...

His eyes widened and he twisted, violently, craning his neck for some glimpse of the foyer. The overturned furniture, however, blocked any view he might have had of the silent staircase. He returned to his shoulders with a frustrated grunt.

"Don't worry, Argent." A low chuckle slithered between them. "Derek will keep a close eye on the misses while you're indisposed."

"That's...a comfort," Chris muttered as the heel jabbing into the soft flesh beneath his sternum dug just a little deeper.

_C'mon!_ he thought, _Get yourself out! Do it!_

Peter tipped his head and rolled his attention to their surroundings. Chris turned to follow the path of those icy eyes, his frustration only festering at the vile and patient scrutiny his home received. They took in the shattered window, which was a nagging factor Chris just couldn't shake. He didn't need concerned neighbors "popping by" to see what all the commotion was about and handing the alpha any more leverage than he already had.

The demolished love seats and coffee table were scattered everywhere. The hunter could feel them along the length of his spine, prodding him with sharp bites whenever he shifted his position. Peter smiled at the two lonely photos that had managed to cling to the wall even after Chris' weight had collided with them.

The survey ended in the fireplace, when the alpha suddenly stilled. His serenity slipped a little as he stared into the blacked interior, causing his brow to pucker ever so slightly. Chris' own eyes narrowed as the distant look crossed over the alpha's face.

He lessened his grip on the shoe, easing his left hand down to the floor. The alpha blinked and seemed to rouse himself out of the short torpor, turning his gaze to the hunter.

His smile returned as brittle as frozen glass. "You have a lovely home. Truly," his finger circled about the room, "it's a nice floor plan."

Chris' palm ghosted along his side, skimming fragments of the coffee table.

"A man's home says a lot about him, you know. It's his sanctuary, his refuge, his final stronghold against the evils of this world. Then again, since you're married..." He rolled his eyes, considering, "Would it transfer over to the garage?"

Chris glared at him, his hand still in search of something, anything, that could be considered a weapon. Each breath was steadied through his nose, exhaled between his teeth, zeroing his thoughts on keeping his heart rate steady. Keeping his intention out of his eyes.

_That's right_, he encouraged the other in silence. _Keep talking. It's your big moment. Enjoy it while it lasts._

Peter shrugged, dismissing his own question. "No matter. I suppose it all becomes one and the same after that safety net has been yanked from beneath us. Once that most fortified outpot has been beseiged, invaded." He reached above the mantle to stroke a finger along Victoria's favorite vase. "And desecrated."

He tipped it over the edge.

Chris flinched as it smashed into the stone hearth, pelting his neck and cheek with bits of ceramic. His fingers brushed over a large hunk of wood, jagged on the side that had broken from the whole. Only the severity of his position kept the triumph out of his face as he imaged plunging the stake into the werewolf's calf.

If only to wipe that smile clean off his face.

_Wait for the moment, Argent. Wait._

Using his nails, he began to hike the piece higher towards his palm.

Peter loomed above him, studying the stoic lack of response. He cocked his head. "We have that in common now, don't we?"

Chris stilled his progress. Misdirect the conversation, keep the wolf focused on anything but carrying out his intent. He snorted with as much disdain as his compressed chest would allow.

"Lost a house..." he grunted. "S-s-so you'll t-trash mine?"

Peter's gaze flickered and Chris scoured that face to see if it was suspicion which narrowed those terrible eyes. He normally discouraged any banter with the enemy, so he had to admit he was a little rusty on the spur-of-the-moment anecdotes. Then again, he normally wasn't facing down an alpha while flat on his back either.

Roll with the punches, right?

"Hardly," Peter growled at last, his lip curling. "Houses can be fixed, Argent. _Replaced."_ The bridge of his nose crinkled with a bitter smirk. "The intent of any crime is never against the property, now is it?"

His fingernails skid over the wood's polished finish. But the werewolf's gave no indication that he heard it. His lip was trembling as he struggled to keep his next words level.

"No. The true cruelty of any break-in, or vandalism, or even of a _fire_," a rumble shivered through the word, "is what it does to the man left behind. Stripping him of his security. Stealing his authority over his own domain. He is robbed of any confidence that he is capable of defending his own!"

His teeth elongated as he shifted his weight over the man. Chris' neck arched as the pressure doubled upon his lungs.

"Helplessness," a much darker voice mused, "is an ugly thing, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>From his position on the staircase, Derek watched the men's silent duel. One seeking out the fear and pitiful wails he had drug from his other victims. The other battling with everything a lifetime of war had integrated into him: silence and indifference in the face of adversity.<p>

But the emotions roiling from the living room betrayed everything their faces would not reveal. They were thick and potent as they glided over the beta's tongue, slowing his already muddled thoughts as he tried to sort through each one. The triumph that tingled through his skin. The apprehension of the situation that left his stomach heavy laden. Which sense of injustice outweighed the other? Whose determination blazed hotter? And just who was floundering beneath the intensity of it all?

He shook his head, taking each breath through his nose and letting it go between his teeth. His knuckles whitened upon the banister as he tried to focus on the words exchanged between them. He could hear each one plainly but could not reign in his comprehension long enough to decipher any of it. Frustration coiled up his spine as a caged fury built and built and built within him.

_Peter!_ a distant voice bellowed somewhere behind him. _You can't do this! You have to let me go!_

His lips remained closed, empty eyes filled with nothing but obedience.

Closer at hand, he felt smug amusement stir through the dominent presence crushing his will. Complete confidence radiating that the beta would not twitch a finger without its consent.

It was infuriating.

His nostrils flared, suddenly.

A new scent. One he recognized.

Floral by her choice of shampoo and deodorant, intermixed with a spritz of apple body spray. The girl.

Derek glanced upward even as her shadow flitted from the top step. His muscles reacted, instinctively, at the threat she posed to the alpha's plan. Red leaked into his irises as he made to follow her. Then, he hesitated.

_Don't._ The far off voice pressed. _She's no concern. Let her be..._

His hand trembled, wood creaking as his fingernails swept into claws. He could feel the alpha-logic considering the other's point and then finally conceding to it. Only then could he let his foot fall to a lower step.

It was true, after all. He returned normal, if not slightly glazed, hazel eyes to the living room. For good or ill, the girl would ever be Scott's problem. Not his.

Relief flooded into his stomach though he wasn't entirely sure why.

* * *

><p>"Isn't it?" Peter demanded when he didn't get an answer.<p>

The hunter winced as the weight eased up. Air flooded back into his lungs with a shuddering gasp. And he used his lurching breath the shield the moment his hand closed about the wood.

_Good, Argent! Good, good..._

He offered a weak nod to appease the werewolf's patience, tightening his grip. He had to be fast, before anticipation could betray his plan...

"All right," Peter said, pleasantly. "Now you have some concept of that atomosphere inside my brother's home the night you took him from -"

Chris' entire frame rocked with the force of his blow. But just as fast as he initiated the strike, his arm slammed back to the floor. The pressure which was on his chest vanished and reappeared full force upon the side of his pinned wrist.

Peter clucked his tongue with disapproval.

"After all that sneakiness, too," he sneered, shaking his head. His heel went up and came hurtling back down with a sickening crunch.

Chris heard the break a split second before his mind was assaulted by his nerves being set on fire. White heat seared through his inner ears and he twisted to curl upon the injury. He never got that far.

Instead, a wide palm shoved him flat again. Spittle snuck past his clenched teeth as Peter settled over him, his right foot still pinning the shattered wrist to the floor. The werewolf lifted the makeshift stake from where it had fallen and turned it between them, thoughtfully.

He snapped it in two with his thumb. The pieces bounced off Chris' chest.

"Wrong monster," he said with a shrug. "Guilt making us desperate, is it?"

Chris puffed out a few breaths, trying to stifle the fire scorching his arm with every minute movement. He cracked his eyes at the alpha, feeling the flush of his own wrath rising up his neck. This murdering animal had to gall to accuse him of guilt? Really?

"Th-that's the real diff...difference between us. Isn't it, Hale?"

Peter cocked his head, curiously.

"Your kind, ugh...will never let the facts get in the way of a good story, huh?"

He smirked when that smile finally vanished. Peter's palm slammed into his throat and Chris sputtered as strong fingers created a vice about his windpipe.

"A good story?" the lighter voice trembled with thinly veiled rage. His eyes swirled into a smoldering red. "You don't think I know what you're people did to us?"

"D-do you?" Chris grunted, lifting his chin in challenge. "Because I've never heard...of an order t-to burn a house..."

Peter's growl subsided as he lowered his gaze to the back of his own hand. His fingers were curled over the steady beat just beneath the man's jaw. His eyes narrowed.

"Well?" Chris muttered, stiffly. "Am I lying?"

He felt the tremble in those fingers as they withdrew. Peter remained hovering above him, his irises returned to blue but darkened now as he considered the man's heartbeat. Chris' breathing stilled, his wrist still vying for his full attention despite his effort to stay focused on the beast. A shadow of doubt crossed his face, but any sense of victory was wiped from the hunter when he suddenly cracked his neck.

"Tell me, Argent, how many nights did it take you?" Chris frowned up at him as the other's face hardened. "Before you convinced yourself of your innocence? Before that lie became your truth?"

Chris flinched despite the angry jolt which shot up his arm. How depraved was this monster?

"I am not...lying," he hissed.

Peter stared at him, a slight twitch tugging at his upper lip.

Depraved enough, it seemed. He furrowed his brow. "Killing an innocent hunter...will only sign your own death sentence. You and the rest of your pack, Hale..."

Peter straightened, his wrath clearing as he did. "You?" His mouth erupted into a broad grin. "Argent, what would I possibly gain from killing you?"

The hunter stared at him in silence.

A deep rumble emanated through the alpha's chest, rising until the whole living room seemed to shiver with his laughter.

Chris was dumbfounded. "Isn't that what you've wan-"

"What I've_ wanted_," Peter snarled. "Is understanding only." He finally released the man's wrist, only to sidle closer to his face. "I want you to...to _appreciate _just what your people did to me. What you took." That eerily calm smile came creeping back into place. "Besides, I have beta who needs breaking in, Argent."

Chris' heart stopped only to come roaring back to life between his ears. A chill swept down his back.

"Scott?"

Peter's smile deepened. "I'll ask you again: What would I possibly gain...from killing _you_?"

With that, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling.


	8. Upstairs

**Disclaimer**: Teen Wolf and its characters do not belong to me.

A/N: Okay, guys! I hear ya! No more three months lagging behind! So here's the next installment for your pleasure!

Upstairs

_Finish it._

A death sentence of three syllables.

Forged in hatred and infused with the alpha's very authority, the words had ignited a fire in the blood of his betas and had consumed their minds. And while some deep seeded fragment of Derek's will fought to resist it's corrupting power, the command raged on through Scott's head.

It ran in ceaseless circles, unchecked and unchallenged, as he pushed the door ahead of him open.

Moonlight spilled into the dark hallway, only to be blotted out as he emerged from the master bedroom. His steps fell with silent patience, grinding a filthy outline of his shoes into Victoria's carpet. The legs of his tux had been shredded by the forest's undergrowth and dangled about his calves in lifeless strips.

He passed a sofa table, fingers unfurling to trail over it. Four lines of red smeared across the table top, thick and sticky. The only reminder that a man named Marcus had once existed. A thrill of pleasure tingled the back of his neck at the faint squeal created by his claws sliding along the glass.

He paused, however, as they came to the end of the table. Shifting out the clutter of noise that came from the downstairs, he honed his senses towards the only other heart beat occupying the second story. It was faster and more agitated than when he'd first entered the house, snapping his attention to the last door on the left and flooding his mouth with saliva.

_Finish it._

It would begin with her.

Once her heart was silenced, everything Peter had started in the school would come to fruition. They would move on to the next house and the next face in the nameless list of humans the alpha had chosen to condemn. The blonde, the red-head, and, of course, the twitchy one would all share her fate tonight. His initiation was in full swing and he would prove his loyalty to Peter Hale with a blood-soaked trail winding through the homes of Beacon Hills.

His fingers trembled in anticipation.

Her heart continued its siren's song, completely oblivious to him. His lips parted, tasting the scent she left on the air and cooling the heat which still stained his teeth. His tongue flicked forward, passing over his fangs. The ever present pulse which lined his vision beat faster as he closed in on her doorway.

He could see her, even now, through a memory on loan from the alpha. Young girl. Loose, dark curls falling about her shoulders. Pale, no, _fair_-skinned. Now, that was important. An uneasy smile in place while she tried to end the conversation in the dress shop.

_Finish her._

Peter demanded her blood.

To that, there could be no objection.

He reached for the handle.

* * *

><p>Allison pressed her shoulders to the wood. The sob trying to claw its way up her chest was smothered into a low groan that just barely managed to slip through her fingers. She sucked the air back in and counted to five. Then she pushed from the door, throwing herself to the floor.<p>

She wound up half-way beneath the bed, her elbow stinging as it brushed along the carpet. She snagged the handle to the black case she had taken to stowing there after practice and then shimmied backwards on her knees. She hauled it onto her bedspread.

Derek Hale was in her house.

Her mother might already be dead. Her father was probably next. Or Kate. Or herself. Derek Hale was in her house...

Her fingers fumbled for the latches and it was only after she felt the deep _clunkclunk! _of them giving beneath her hands that she felt even slightly back in control since the night had begun. She let the lid fall across the bed and gazed down at the compact bow.

It lay upon its padding, guilty only of taking paper targets from this world. Her eyes drifted to the lower limb, where the folded remains of Derek's wanted poster had been tucked beneath it. Three holes had been punched through his sketched forehead. She had been the one to put them there. Though, a slip of paper tacked to a telephone pole was a far cry from the living target...

Could she really send an arrow through his heart?

Kate could do it. Her father could do it. But her? Allison?

Clenching her teeth, she pushed the question from her head and unhooked the weapon from its bindings. Hefting it from the case, her fingers automatically traveled along the trigger wire. The coiling pit in her stomach soothed just a little as the thin cable passed over her skin. She plucked an arrow from the lid and fit it into the shelf, drawing the nock back against the wire.

Derek Hale was standing on her staircase, hovering over the limp body of her mother.

_What will you do about it?_

A soft click from the left sent her springing from the bed. The bow came up, cocked and eager and aimed at the door.

He was coming.

She steeled her will, ignoring the cold line of sweat forming along her palms. The doorknob jiggled, rotated lazily to the left, paused, and then came back. She adjusted her aim, sliding the arrow to where Derek's chest would appear.

_Breathe, Allison_, her father's voice from long ago whispered. _No one is watching. No one is waiting on you. You have all the time in the world. You will never miss until you shoot before you're ready._

Her hands steadied. The door swung inward. She found her target through the sight.

Her aim was too high.

The shadow was too short to be Derek.

Her heart stuttered.

One step. Two steps. Into the light.

He had been destroyed. A furrowed brow had stolen his expressions. The bridge of his nose had widened, keeping his lips slightly raised to expose his fangs. The tips of his ears jutted through matted curls. A spray of blood had crossed his face, peppering a diagonal line from his chin to his forehead. His clothes hung in ruins about his frame.

But none of that compared to his eyes.

Brilliant red and yet shadowed by his heavy brow. He surveyed her through murder.

The bow hung between them. The arrow rattled against its shelf.

His head fell to the side, vivid eyes taking in the arrow's point, curiously. Her breath sucked in, painfully loud, as the memories of another life and another girl came rocketing to the forefront. Back when she teased her boyfriend with this very weapon.

Back when he had flinched from an unloaded bow.

He had flinched. Now she knew why.

Fingers caked in mud and blood extended and trailed over the arrow's shaft. He stepped closer, pushing the weapon aside as he brought his eyes back to her face. She eased the wire forward, letting the bow clatter to her feet as she stared into his filthy face. She frowned.

His eyes had been gold before. What had happened to them?

"Scott, I -"

Pressure clamped upon her throat and she felt herself hurtling backwards. Her toes barely scraped the floor before her shoulders slammed into the wall. Her pictures trembled on their hooks. She clutched at the wrist before her, eyes widening in terror as she felt four pinpricks biting along the flesh beneath her ear.

His face was inches from hers, filling her nose with the heavy stench of blood. A low growl rumbled between them, his empty eyes searing over her, critically. He sidled closer, his thighs and chest brushing hers, a presence she once welcomed now sending shivers of revulsion down her spine.

"Scott," she whispered, feeling her pulse rage against the pad of his thumb. "Scott, sto-"

His palm crushed her windpipe. She pushed against his unrelenting strength, her hand falling from his wrist to spread over his exposed chest. But there was no stopping his teeth from drifting ever closer to the free side of her neck.

Her teeth clenched even as his fangs parted. Hot breath slid over her skin. Allison closed her eyes, tensing against the oncoming pain. Which never came.

Scott inhaled, bringing in the same scent Derek had caught from the stairway. That frilly smell of flowers and apple spray. But as his lips caressed the gooseflesh lining her skin, something else flowed over his tongue and burst deep within his sinuses. With Allison's death lingering just a kiss's width away, every fiber in Scott McCall went rigid.

Flowers and apples were meaningless. But what lingered beneath it was everything.

The smell of study dates, of a walk in the woods, a night in a crowded bowling alley, drawing nearer to one another as the alpha hunted them through the school.

Sharing a kiss on the dance floor.

It was _her_.

His head jerked back as if he'd just been scalded. Wild eyes jumped between hers, a line of confusion crossing over his brow. Allison watched him, tears gliding down her cheeks as his face fell. His gaze swept once around the room before returning to her in panic. Tendrils of yellow slid through solid red.

"S-Scott?" she whispered.

She was freed so suddenly she didn't have time to catch herself. Pain bit her knees as she hit the floor. Looking up, she found he hadn't gone far, only a step or two her left. Trembling everywhere, he stared at her in confusion. He shook his head, falling back again.

"L-l-l-liii-sssss..."

The sound was harsh and resonated deep within his chest. A twisted and guttural imitation of speech, further impeded by his fangs.

"S-s-s-sah..."

Allison pushed herself up. Her heart was still racing, but now she found there hope was now challenging her adrenaline. Bit by bit, those red irises were being swallowed up by gold...Scott was coming back to her.

She straightened, coming to her feet. Scott remained frozen, breathing heavily and keeping his focus on her. Allison ran her knuckles over her throat, nervous but determined, as she took a step towards him.

"Scott, what is it?"

His eyes narrowed in frustration. The hiss came again, fighting through those unnatural teeth.

"L-l-liissss-s-s-ah...liss-ah-ah..."

Her dark eyes widened, filling with fresh tears as her heart shattered between their feet.

Allison.

He knew her.

* * *

><p>Downstairs, Peter's brow puckered with displeasure at the silence emanating from above. He clicked his tongue with a disgusted sigh and looked to Chris. The man still pinned on his back, was watching the ceiling, desperately. As if he could see right through it and verify his child was still safe.<p>

So he had no chance to defend himself when Peter drove his heel into the space between his eyes.

The alpha swept through the living room, a growl building as he neared the stairs. His fingers curled into Derek's bicep and hurled him aside, slamming the cloudy-eyed beta into the wall. Derek grunted, shaking his head as he focused on his uncle's face.

"Watch them," Peter hissed, jerking his head towards the now motionless man near the fireplace. Releasing the other, he made his way up the staircase.

Derek watched him go with a scowl and then jerked his head towards the living room as a jingle filled the demolished space. He glanced to the woman beneath him and then descended the steps, entering the other room. The tune continued, merrily, drawing him towards the shattered window.

His swiped his foot through the bits of wood and glass and sent Chris's cell phone flipping over the floor. It landed, face-up, still buzzing and singing to itself. The werewolf cocked his head, coming to stand over it.

A spike of surprise lanced down his spine as the Caller-ID broke through his fog-laden thoughts.

Kate.

* Whew, so there's chapter 8! Your thoughts please? I mean, the review button is right there, I'm just saying...


	9. Missed Communication

**Disclaimer:** Teen Wolf does not belong to me, of course.

A/N: I am determined to get this all into 10 chapters, so my apologies that this one ran a little longer than intended...Anywhoo, enjoy! :D

Missed Communication

It's a strange thing, watching sanity overcome a werewolf's face.

The world had ground to a halt around them, leaving Allison caught in a paralyzing rift somewhere between awe and horror. The transformation was far less shocking than the first she had seen from the bus seat. Yet she couldn't help but wonder what nightmares would come from the sight of Scott's innocence breaking through those otherwise violent features.

His eyes were just as wild as they had been in the parking lot. The wide bridge of his nose was still crinkled, making his scowl all the more prominent. Tanned skin remained smothered in sweat, blood, and soil. Yet when his lips twitched, they unveiled both his fangs and the ghost of Scott's old, nervous smile.

And there it was.

She could see him, too.

Allison started when his palm brushed her cheek. Chilled grit and filth smudged over her pale skin. His thumb traced a familiar path beneath her eye, and her vision blurred about the edges. She brought her fingers up to cup the back of his hand.

"Hey..."

She swore the harsh lines of his cheekbones lessened. He stepped closer, mirroring her smile and sending the warmth of his breath over her.

Rank with the smell of blood.

Allison's hands flew upwards, splaying over his chest as reality came rushing back down.

She stared at her fingers, pressed against the dark stains which had stiffened the white fabric of his shirt. Her thoughts seemed to shift into fast-forward, flickering behind her eyes in short, flashing bursts.

Derek.

He was still in the house.

Her family was still under attack.

Her mother was still...

And Scott. Where had Scott come from?

How did he get like this?

Who did he...?

She lifted her head to find him watching her. His eyes had narrowed in the only display of confusion those sharpened features had left him to express.

"Scott," Allison whispered. Her voice broke upon his name. "Whose blood is this?"

He blinked, cocking his head as he watched her lips move. Then he leaned in, dropping his head to bring his mouth to hers. Allison pushed against him, bumping her head off the wall as she turned aside.

"No," she hissed, shaking her head to discourage him.

He withdrew, his eyes stung with the rejection. Allison clenched her jaw in frustration, her stomach twisting that she'd hurt him again. She caught his arm to keep him from retreating further, wondering just how she could make him understand what he'd...

Dirt flaked off his forearm as her fingers slid against his skin. She swallowed, thickly, dropping her gaze from the horror of his appearance. A curse indeed. What other word was there for a condition that left innoncent eyes shining from a face caked in the evidence of one's guilt?

A small part of her begged to allow that innocence to continue. But the realist in her knew that if Scott didn't understand what had happened to him that night, and quickly, his naivety would lead to a bullet in his head.

She took his other wrist and lifted his hands into view.

The deadly row of his claws created a crude fence between them. Scott stared into the congealed filth upon his palms, blandly, for a moment and then a jolt rocked through him. His breath whistled through his teeth as he stumbled back. Golden eyes swivled about the room with a sudden, horrific understanding, and he shook his head against it.

Allison watched him, helpless. She wanted desparately to comfort him, though she doubted anything she might say would bring actual consolation. Instead, she wiped her own palms over her jeans and rubbed away the cold film of grit which his thumb had left upon her cheek.

Was it the last remains of a doe he'd come across in the night? Or some stranger off the street?

Or one of her own family?

She stamped down on the idea, returning her focus to the immediate problem. Scott had pushed himself against the thin door of her closet and stared at the opposite wall. His breath had dissolved into a ragged panting and his eyes were wide as whatever he'd witnessed that night replayed itself before him. A low and painful noise pulled from his throat.

Allison stepped to him, daring to rest her fingers upon his shoulder. "Scott," she whisered, drawing him back to the present. "_Whose_ is it?"

He looked to her and a red line sliced through his irises. She felt the tension sweep through him.

For the second time that night, Allison's shoulders slammed off the wall. Scott's palm fixed her into place even as he spun on his toes, dropping into a defensive crouch. His growl was overpowered by a light clucking sound.

A man stood with his shoulder pressed against the frame of her bedroom door. His fingers were tucked, casually, into the pocket of his overcoat. Chilled eyes crinkled as he lifted his chin.

"Now, now, Allison. _That_ would be telling."

* * *

><p>Her headlights pulled the pothole out of the night an instant before Kate's tire found it. The car lurched to the right, jarring her in her seat. She swore and jerked the steering wheel aside far too late. The rear tire followed the first before the vehicle finally rocked back level. Kate grit her teeth and bore down harder upon the accelerator.<p>

Her cell phone was fixed tight against her ear as she manuevered the narrow logging trail. Her thoughts were interlaced by the relentless symphony of her brother's ring back. Her nails tapped in restless patterns as she tried to keep the road ahead in clear focus.

The details kept bubbling up, however, keeping in rythm with the dying light which had met her in that gruesome hall.

"Damn it," she hissed. "Pick up!"

The music stopped.

"Chris! They found him! I don't how, but they got him back! And Marcus..." Her grip tightened on the phone. "They killed him, Chris."

"I know."

All four tires locked up, throwing a wave of gravel off her undercarriage and ahead of the fender. Dust roiled through the headlights before her.

"Derek?"

"Hello, Kate."

His voice was low and weary, but Kate didn't bother to focus on that. She swung to her left, glaring out into the dark woods as if she might spot him there, grinning back at her. "How did you get this phone?"

Silence filled her skull for a beat and when he spoke again, it only fueled the red flash of rage which slashed through her spine.

"How do you think?"

Her lip curled back and she twisted herself to face the road again. "If you _touched_ any of them..."

"Come home, Kate," he replied, quietly severing the threat. "Come see if it was worth it. What you did to us."

"Derek, I swear, I'll cut your -"

"Come home."

The line went dead.

She swore. Flinging the phone into the passenger seat, her foot reclaimed the gas.

* * *

><p>Derek ended the call and bent double, shivering as the last tendrils of the alpha's control seeped from his mind. His legs trembled in the effort of keeping himself on his feet.<p>

The cell clattered next to Chris' limp hand. Its battery popped from the rear and went skidding across the floor.

Derek pushed himself upright, opening eyes which were blazing electric blue.

His teeth flashed in grim triumph and he cut his gaze towards the ceiling. Retreating a few paces, he studied the still form of the hunter before turning his back on him.

He started towards the staircase, only to pull to a halt halfway there.

The woman was gone.

* * *

><p>"My name is Peter," the stranger said, lifting the corner of his mouth as if he were reassuring her of something. "We were never properly introduced, were we?"<p>

The man from the mall. She recognized him now. But it took a second look between him and Scott's low, defensive stance separating them before the reason behind his presence finally clicked.

"It's you," Allison said. "You've been killing everyone."

His brow creased, slightly, and his voice lightened to correct her. "I've been setting things straight."

"By killing people?"

Peter drew his hands from their pockets and he pulled, thoughtfully, upon his ring finger. "Sometimes, Allison, lives are required in order that justice can be served."

A hot rush flooded her. "There's no cause which justifies killing."

"Really?" He pushed inside the room, gliding to the bow she'd discarded and carefully nudging it aside with the toe of his shoe. "Is that what they taught you?"

Allison winced, thinking of Derek standing above her mother. The arrow meant for him was still fitted into place.

Peter cocked his head and continued towards them. Tension swept through Scott and he stepped to meet the alpha. His growl rose into a threatening rumble.

The alpha glanced to him and all his pleasantry vanished. Icy blue was engulfed by fierce red and Scott jerked as if he'd been struck. His muscles went rigid, jolting him to his full height before the older wolf. Peter lifted his lip as his own powerful growl drowned out the boy's.

"Scott!" Allison cried.

Peter shot his hellish gaze to her, his teeth clacking in some gutteral command she couldn't interpret, but fully understood. She froze in horror as Scott's shoulders went loose. His head fell too far to the right, his hands falling limp at his sides as the alpha stared him down.

"No!" Allison darted around his shoulder and her hands flew to the course hair lining his jaw. He stared past her. What little life his face had regained was fading away beneath the alpha's influence.

She couldn't lose him to that madness again.

"Please," she whispered, ignoring the danger at her backside. "Scott, don't leave me...don't..."

Haltingly, his brilliant eyes worked a path down to hers. The muscles twitched along his neck, tugging his chin slightly to the right. A flicker of pain crossed his features, uttering a silent apology before his humanity disappeared right before her.

Allison went numb, her hands lingering in the air when he drew back, mildly, and stepped aside. His gaze fell to the carpet. Mouth dry and trembling all over, Allison turned to face the alpha alone.

The gleam of his power was being camouflaged by blue even as she eyed the discarded bow beyond his feet. She shot a futile look to her window and to the bed which blocked her way to it. And in the end she snatched up the lamp from her beside table, raising it like an expectant batter waiting for the pitch.

Peter graced her with a pitying smile. "I am sorry you had to be involved in this, Allison. It was never my intention."

Allison widened her stance, waiting for creature to lunge. "You came here to kill my family...How would I not be involved in that?"

The man cocked his head again. "Oh, no, Allison. Tonight isn't about vengeance. It's about Scott." His smile deepened. "And it's about you."

Her eyes widened. "What? B-but I saw Derek, he -"

"Is managing the situation downstairs," Peter closed the distance between them with calm, casual steps. "I wanted to ensure the pair of you had some privacy, you see."

"P-privacy?"

Scott winced where he stood. His fingers coiled into fists.

"I am trying to forge a pack, Allison. Integrating a new member into the family takes a few steps. Loyalties must be proven. And old allegiances...severed."

Allison blinked, shooting a look to her boyfriend's bloodied frame. "What...what does that mean?"

Scott trembled, his neck cracking as his head dropped to his shoulder.

Peter sighed. "It means that Scott cannot fully become one of my betas while you live. He has a conflict of interests. One I intend to eliminate. By his hand..." His voice darkened. "Or mine."

Scott's skull rang off the wall.

Peter glanced towards him.

The lamp shattered across his neck and shoulder, rocking him forward. The crumpled shade and the base rained down about his feet. His jaw slid forward in annoyance and he twisted, catching Allison by the throat as she tried to dart past him.

She cried out, her feet coming off floor as his arm flexed. The palm pressed to her neck seemed to bubble against her skin and she heard the faint snapping of bones as they began to realign. Peter inched taller and his teeth elongated, sweeping into a set of interlocking incisors. A dry, tearing sound filled the air between them as his clothing was stretched to their limit.

Allison gasped as the beast which had hunted her through the high school so many nights ago fought its way out of the man she'd just been speaking with. A massive hand tipped in black talons rose above their heads. It paused at the height of its arch as vile red eyes seemed to consider her one last time.

Claws descended.

A smaller, clawed hand caught the thick wrist before it reached its mark. His other fist came hurtling around to deal a punch which would have knocked a human's head clear off his shoulders. As it was, however, Scott only managed to break the alpha's hold upon his girlfriend.

She dropped to her rear, looking up as Scott towered above her, roaring back into the alpha's bewildered face.

The monstrous wolf stretched its assaulted jaw. Then dull wrath ignited behind its gleaming eyes. Scott flinched again beneath the creature's influence, but this time his back and shoulders straightened in defiance.

Peter drew back his arm as if to backhand the insolent beta. Scott only spread his stance to defend the girl behind him.

But both went rigid at the unmistakable cock of a shot gun.

Scott dropped, curling himself about Allison even as Peter twisted towards the door. Allison clamped her hands to her ears as the shot erupted. Bits of plaster and a fine mist that was both hot and wet fell over them.

Peter's agonized bellow shivered the air. Peeking past Scott's shoulder, Allison watched as the alpha staggered, groping at his mutilated shoulder in vain. Beyond him, Victoria Argent filled the entryway.

"Get away from my daughter, you son of a -" the word was drowned out as she reloaded the chamber. The spent casing flipped through the air, fresh with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Peter huffed in disbelief, his huge frame withering while his blood continued to pump from the wound. His teeth flashed hatred at the woman and he shot to the left. Allison's bedsprings screamed in protest as his bulk descended upon them. He dropped his uninjured shoulder and hurtled through the window. Glass and thin wood gave beneath his weight with a splintering crunch.

He was gone before she could pull off that second shot.

Victoria spun to the second beta, only to find him gently wiping Allison's hair clear of her face. Her daughter looked up into the throat of the gun and gasped, scrambling to put herself into the line of fire.

"Mom, no!"

Victoria lifted her head, allowing the gun to drift downwards. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't be seeing that nervous, charming boy, who had once shared dinner with them, actually shining through those golden eyes.

Not in a werewolf fully shifted and in connection with an alpha.

He couldn't have that control...

A pain-filled howl filled the bedroom, snapping all of their eyes to the window. The boy's shoulders hitched and he dropped his head like he was fighting to ignore the sound. The shot gun came back up in a flash.

"Scott!" Allison cried, taking his shoulders.

She wasn't enough, though. As a second howl drifted in from the night, Scott threw her hands off and bolted for the window. Allison reached the sill herself just as he landed and stumbled across their driveway. A taller shadow booked across their lawn, joining him in the street before they both shot out of sight.

"They can't help it," Victoria said quietly. Allison pulled her head back into her room, careful of the glass, and went to help her mother. The woman had a trickle of blood gliding down the back of her neck from the gash hidden by her hair. "No beta can refuse their alpha's command."

Allison said nothing. She only hugged the woman she'd thought had been dead minutes before. Yet she snuck a look back to the demolished window with conviction filling her face.

A beta couldn't defy an alpha?

She knew one who could.

Derek flinched when the gun went off overhead. He bared his fangs as the alpha's voice filled the house. He turned and watched as the massive shape descended to the lawn outside and vanished into the darkness.

He had just started after him when a low moan caught his attention. Chris was stirring before the fireplace, sluggishly rolling to his side.

The beta scowled and crossed to him, sinking to a knee before the hunter. "I killed your man."

The other looked up to him, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"_Marcus_." Derek spat. Chris's eyes widened. "He got what he deserved, Argent. I'm the one who killed him. I want you to know that."

His muscles convulsed when the first howl struck through him, his eyes rolling back with the urge to obey. He saw the hunter's eyes narrow, angrily, and cut his fist across the man's cheek, sending him back to the floor. His neck arched as the second call sounded and scrambled across the ruined living room, leaping through the gaping bay window.

His hand touched damp grass to balance himself just as Scott landed hard from the second story. Derek pushed off after him, crossing over the lawn. Deftly, he caught the stiff collar of the teen's shirt as he passed by, dragging Scott into step behind him as they fled the Argent household.

They vanished into the night just as sirens lit up in the distance. One of the neighbors had finally called the cops.

* * *

><p>*Your thoughts, please?**<p> 


	10. Next Moves

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and associated characters do not belong to me.

A/N: Whoo. Okay, after many rewrites, edits, cuts, red squiggly marks, and just plain throwing the whole thing out to start over...I think we finally have an ending to this AU! It was supposed to be posted on Saturday, but I had internet issues, gah!

Next Moves

Whatever brittle strength had held the charred dining room wall together all those years was no match for the velocity which hurled Derek straight through it. He slammed into the side of the staircase (which seemed to be the only structure in the Hale household that could withstand damn near anything) and hit the floor, shoulder first.

_Human. Human. Stay human!_

Pushing down the slight ripple coursing beneath his skin, he set his palms to the floorboards.

They quivered beneath him as a figure landed at his side.

Strong fingers sank into his neck a second before his spine cracked off wood paneling. A cold palm fitted tight beneath his chin and he was slid up and up until his toes lost the ground. He clutched at the arm suspending him, even though he knew he would never pry a finger loose with the alpha's rage fueling his strength as it was.

"What happened?" Peter snarled. His usual smoothness was overridden by a darker, clipped tone.

"I..." Derek arched his neck, straining against the iron grip, "saw some -"

Suspicion tipped the alpha's head and he drew his nephew from the splintered boards. "And? What did you see?"

No answer. Only the slightest tug at the corner of a bloodied mouth.

Which just really wasn't sufficient.

The hold on him tightened just enough to send him across the foyer. Derek slid into the battered and blasted cabinet near the front door. Anger sizzled down his spine and scarlet swept across his vision...

No, no, no, he couldn't shift! Peter couldn't know just how much control he'd lost over his beta and, as a wolf, Derek's brilliant blue irises would betray the lie. He sucked air through his aching teeth and held it until color seeped back ino the world.

_Keep it together_.

Hazel eyes lifted as Peter shook out his injured shoulder and crossed towards him. The stench of scorched flesh and gunpowder still clung to his stretched and battered shirt. The black holes were already filling in with fresh skin, but still, the sight and stink of the injury was enough to turn his stomach.

"We were granted the unique opportunity to strike back at them. To make them suffer as they made us, Derek. And I have _nothing_ to show for it?" Peter's foot struck the beta's chest, pushing him into the rusted knobs on the lower drawers. "Because you were chasing _shadows_?"

Derek fought the urge to wince, keeping his face empty and compliant. He hoped to keep his freed mind hidden as long as possible. He could play the alpha's fool for now while his uncle was furious and subject to the instinctual rage of his darker nature. He had no commands for his betas to fulfill and no thought of testing the strength of his bonds over them.

"I...I thought..." he muttered weakly.

"You thought nothing," Peter snapped, increasing the pressure. "And I've half a mind to ensure you don't forget your place again, you -" His good arm drew back. Black talons erupted from his fingertips. Derek's own claws emerged, automatically, in the face of a threat.

"No!"

Dust kicked into the air as Scott slid between them, knocking Peter free of his nephew. Derek looked up in bewilderment, wondering just how the second beta had materialized from the dining room without either of them noticing. He stood, fully human, staring down the madness that had consumed Peter Hale. His hands were lifted, for the second time that night, against the alpha and in defense of his prey.

"We get it," Scott said. "We screwed up. Big time. Okay. Just...just don't..." He waved, helplessly, behind himself and Derek was startled to realize the motion was a silent plea made on his behalf.

His heart sank, torn between wanting to curse the kid out for interfering and wanting to join him in the stand against their incensed leader. So he did neither and settled for waiting to see how this little act of dissention would play itself out.

"I mean, you still need him...don't you?"

Peter eyed him as he slowly allowed his arm to descend. The slight twitch that had been pulling at his upper lip subsided. Cold logic overwhelmed rage enough to reinstate his ever placid smile.

"I do," he said. His voice returned to its lighter inflection while his eyes still gleamed sinister. "I need you both."

Scott nodded, a slight smile of relief touching his mouth. As if he'd just successfully talked the alpha down from a ledge. Derek cursed in silence, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's matted and filthy hair. He wanted to drag him back, to tell him to run, or at least brace against what was coming next.

"After all," the alpha smirked. He reached up and cupped his palm around Scott's neck in almost a paternal gesture. Scott's spine stiffened at the contact. His face filled with unease far too late. "We shouldn't be fighting, not when we could be welcoming you into the family."

Derek turned away as the alpha's knuckles tightened and Scott's knees buckled.

And he closed his eyes when the screaming started.

* * *

><p>He had lied.<p>

Chris Argent leaned against the rear of a police cruiser. He stared down the street, studying the black wedge of mountains which created a stenciled line across the sky. The only heat in that gray morning was radiating up his arm and kept in perfect tempo with his heart beat.

He had lied to his face.

Worse was the fact that Chris had allowed it to happen. He had turned a blind eye and let one of them slither back into his life. He had caught the tremor in the boy's hand when he'd lifted a glass at dinner and had shrugged it off as meet-the-parents jitters. He had seen the fluid grace Scott possessed only on the lacrosse field where aggression and adrenaline ran rampant and excused as a teenager's drive to win. He had confirmed the kid had a connection to Derek Hale and chosen not to press the matter.

Why?

His eyes slid back towards the house, where Victoria was standing on their ruined threshold with one of the deputies. Allison hovered just behind her with her hands wrapped loosely about her chest. Her dark eyes were staring at some invisible point out in the lawn. The image matched with the distraught young victim of a home invasion. Chris just wished that he didn't know that her worried and distant look had absolutely nothing to do with safety of her family.

But for _him_.

_He saved me_.

That had been the first thing she had said to him when Victoria had managed to coax him back into consciousness. Surrounded by the devastation their enemies had caused to her house, her reaction had been to defend Scott.

Just like that, a battle line was drawn. Right down the center of his home.

His gut twisted at the thought.

"Chris?"

Yellow eyes gleamed through the windshield of his SUV. Mocking him.

"_Chris_?"

His name had an edge to it now. He knew full well that Kate wasn't calling it out of concern. She wasn't making her way across the yard to check on how he was feeling. No. They were Argents. Monster hunters. Things like sibling compassion was not a luxury extended to them.

"You know, there is only one role for the shell-shocked-husband-slash-father-in-the-wake-of-a-crisis for our little play back there." Kate jerked her head towards the house. She spun on her toes and leaned against the cruiser herself. "And it's not to be out pouting by the car."

He sent her a glare through the corner of his eye.

"I dunno, maybe if I got my ass handed to me in my own house..." She lifted her shoulders with a _sorry, you dropped the ball_ grimace. "Yeah, maybe I'd be out here, too."

Chris sighed. "I needed a break from thinking of identifying marks for imaginary criminals." He wiped at his mouth and looked towards the cops milling around. "Needed a chance to think."

"About Scott?"

Light eyes met a darker shade of blue. Kate lifted an expectant brow. He gave no affirmation, but that was okay, because Kate wasn't asking for one.

"So, we're going to take him for what they did for Marcus?"

"Derek took responsibility for Marcus."

She smirked, "By what Vic saw tonight, you can't tell me Scott didn't have a hand in it."

He narrowed his eyes at the horizon, hitching his make-shift sling a little closer to his abdomen. "No, I can't."

"What do you want us to do?"

_He saved me._

Allison's soft words were overpowered by Scott's raised voice. Shouting at him only a few nights ago.

_Every choice I made, everything I did, every single thing was to make sure she was safe!_

Liar.

"Chris?"

He shifted his weight, pushing from the car. Swallowing the bitter taste which snuck over his tongue, he said, "Tell everyone to lay low for now. Let me get my family taken care of and put this mess behind us. After that..." He turned to his sister with a slow grin. "Hale's declared war. Let's make sure he gets what he wants."

He had just started towards the house when Kate spoke again. Though he couldn't see her, he could hear that coy and sickening smile in her voice.

"And Scott?"

Chris dropped his gaze and allowed a fleeting image of the boy to cross before him. He thought of the kid who had swept away his daughter's heart. That little walking mess of raging hormones that he would have never approved on by mere principle. The werewolf who was stupid enough to try and uphold his lies against the leader of the Argents. Chris's face hardened.

"Leave McCall to me."

* * *

><p>Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.<p>

The sound of broken shoes on gravel wound between his ears. His arms hung loose at his side as he walked along the road's shoulder. It was still gray in the forest. Still fairly quiet as well, though he couldn't be sure if that was because it was too early or if it was his presence that had silenced the morning birds.

He didn't dwell on the subject long. He just kept walking with his chin tipped down and his torso exposed to the chill air.

_The remains of his dress shirt had finally been torn away. He didn't exactly remember when, but it had been gone when he had woken on the floor of the Hale house. His joints had been stiff and aching and a lingering burn tingled the ends of his fingers and toes. _

_Fragments of thoughts and memories had flickered behind his eyes as he lay there. Pain, for the most part, had followed the moment he had felt Peter's grip tighten around his neck. Pain which had shot down the length of his spine while a bright arc of agony had tried to split his skull in two._

_He remembered the heat condensing like a wicked sunburn in the space between his shoulder blades. Then the itching, blistering, and splitting sensation across his skin had sent him from his hands and knees to flat on his stomach. _

As he walked, he reached back, still expecting his fingers to meet a ravaged hole just as vile and gruesome as Peter's mutilated shoulder. But there was nothing. Only smooth skin stretched over taut muscle. It wasn't even hot to touch.

What the hell had Peter done?

_He had been startled to find Derek was sitting beside him. Propped up against the wall, he had just been waiting for the second beta to jerk back into reality. He looked awful. Not quite as bad as when his blood was being curdled by wolfsbane, but on his way there. _

_"Sorry, kid," he had muttered when Scott met his eyes. The teenage asked where Peter had gone and received a vague nod towards the front door. "We're on our own for now. To heal up."_

_Pushing himself up, Scott swept his tongue over dry lips only to recoil at the taste he found. His gaze dropped to his hands and he sat there for a long moment. "The guy? The guy in black?"_

_Nothing touched the older werewolf's eyes as he replied. "Deserved it."_

_Shock had snapped the teen's head up._

_"Honestly, Scott," Derek shrugged. "For your first kill? You could have done a lot worse than taking down a Hunter." He pushed from the wall to prop his elbows on his knees. "Are we done with that? Because we've got bigger problems to deal with now."_

_"Are you _kidding_? I just -"_

_"Have an army of Hunters spread around town just waiting to spring on you. Have a deranged alpha who proved that he has no problem bulldozing your free will in order to take his revenge on those Hunters. And the only person who can possibly help you is an untrained two-month-old who rather make out with his girlfriend than even attempt to gain some control of himself!"_

_Scott had blinked and Derek tipped his head._

_"That last one might have been for me," he conceded. "Still, now is not the best time to be whining over the death of a man who would have been too happy to put a bullet through your skull."_

_Damn, when he put it like _that_. "So...so what do we do?"_

His ear twitched, pulling him back into the forest. A car was headed his way, coming from behind. He sighed and looked into the trees, debating whether or not it worth trying to duck out of sight or to let whoever it was pass by like it was perfectly normal for a barefoot and shirtless kid to be wandering the side of the road in a destroyed pair of tuxedo pants. He hadn't quite made it to a decision when he recognized the high-pitched trilling of the approaching engine. Some check-engine light problem that his mother hadn't yet taken to be fixed.

He turned and waited for his own car to catch up with him.

When it did round the corner behind him, he wasn't expecting the front end to dip down as the brakes locked. The poor old thing came skidding to a halt with a blast of gravel and an ensuring dust cloud rolling over him.

Peering through the haze, he found Stiles was behind the wheel, fighting to free himself from the seat belt. He kicked the driver's side door open, tripped, and disappeared for a half a beat before springing back to his feet and circling around to the fender.

"Man, where the _hell_ have you been? Do you have any idea what I've had to go thr -"

He froze, staring at Scott. Scott stared back through a film of grit and blood and exhaustion.

"Holy shhh...Scott...buddy..."

_What do we do?_

_"We play along," Derek had said, looking to the side wearily. "Buy ourselves some time and avoid the Hunters long enough to make something useful out of you..." His words faded. The harsh lines of his face ebbed away as he was pulled into some thought that Scott would never be privy to._

_He had waited as long as he could, until he couldn't take the dark silence brewing between them anymore. "And then what?"_

_Derek stirred. His haggard eyes widened as if he just noticed that he was no longer speaking. "Then, the plan's still the same. Then, we kill the alpha._

_Scott's heart had sank. Of course, it always came back to that, didn't it?_

_It would always come back to blood._

"Scott!"

He felt the sting of rocks biting at his knees and shins and found himself listing dangerously off to the side. The only reason he hadn't pitched into the dirt was that Stiles had somehow managed to snag his arm as he had gone down. He looked up at his friend and marveled at the worry which couldn't be hid from his perfectly normal human face.

He stared into his eyes. Eyes that would never shift from their lighter shade of brown. Eyes which would never gleam red from someone else's mental assault. Eyes that would never ignite at the prospect of stilling a beating heart or fall victim to the seductive thrum of a racing pulse.

Much like the one he could hear coming from his friend's chest.

A choked sound snuck from the back of his throat and Scott slammed in forehead into the other's shoulder. Stiles hit the ground, unable to withstand the force of the onslaught, and sat rigidly as Scott half knelt/half sat at his side and began to quake. His hands, which had lifted in surprise, fell at the soft sob that sucked into the werewolf.

Relaxing, he managed to wrap an arm about his friend's back. He drew him closer, thumping him twice, hard, in a pathetic, male attempt at comfort "Okay, buddy, that's it. We're good...all of us, right here, we're okay...just take it easy."

Scott didn't reply. He just hunched in closer to himself and kept his face hidden in Stiles' shirt.

Unsure what to do with himself or the tearless wreck leaning into him, Stiles checked to see the road was still empty. Yeah, they were good for the moment. Nothing here but us trees and plants and a dynamic werewolf duo...Well, werewolf and his trusty sidekick, that is.

It was as he returned his attention to his friend that Stiles spotted it.

Nestled in the space between Scott's shoulder blades was a large mark. Three black spirals, connecting to one another in the center, were seared straight into his skin. He swore beneath his breath.

It was just like Derek's.

"Scott, what-what happened, man?"

The question stilled those incessant tremors running through his friend. Scott slumped a little in defeat before finally pushing himself away. Setting himself into a sitting position, he looked up from beneath his bangs as he had done a thousand times during their friendship. Only this time, the dark eyes which met Stiles' were foreign and haunted and sent every fine hair on the human's neck to stand on end.

"Stiles," Scott said quietly. "I did something..."

Teen Wolf

* * *

><p>AN: I'm usually the die-hard advocate of happy endings, but seeing as this it kind of a cliff hanger ending for an alternate season two, I wanted to end with that line. Much fear and insti-sweat is happening right now, cuz I never do this to my stories!

Thank you everyone for your hits, faves, alerts, reviews, and holy cow, for your patience in waiting for this. I hope it satisfied!

And one more eternally grateful thank-you to the amazing fountainxxpenny, without whom, this lame-o author would still be sitting back at Chapter 6 staring at a blank notebook, I guarantee!

Here's to Season 2!

Oh, and...your thoughts, please?


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